THE  PEST 


By 


Bought  * 

SK1TH 

146  P««*«« 

UN  a 


THE      PEST 


THE  PEST 


BY 


W.  TEIGNMOUTH    SHORE 

AUTHOR   OF  "THE  TALKING   MASTER,"   "EGOMET,"   ETC.,  AND 
PART  AUTHOR   OF   "THE   FRUIT  OF  THE  TREE" 


NEW    YORK 

C.    H.    DOSCHER    &    CO. 

1909 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY 
C.  H.  DOSCHER  &>  CO. 


SRLF 
l/KL 


The  Pest 


CHAPTER    I 

PAVEMENTS  and  roadway  slippery  with  greasy, 
black  mud;  atmosphere  yellow  with  evil-tasting 
vapor;  a  November  afternoon  in  London;  even- 
ing drawing  on,  fog  closing  down. 

George  Maddison,  tall,  erect,  dark,  walked 
slowly  along,  his  eyes,  ever  ready  to  seize  upon 
any  striking  effect  of  color,  noting  the  curious 
mingling  of  lights:  the  dull  yellow  overhead,  the 
chilly  beams  of  the  street  lamps,  the  glow  and 
warmth  from  the  shop  windows.  Few  of  the  faces 
he  saw  were  cheerful,  almost  all  wearing  that 
expression  of  discontent  which  such  dreary  cir- 
cumstances bring  to  even  the  most  hardened  and 
experienced  Cockneys.  For  his  own  part  he  was 
well  pleased,  having  heard  that  morning  of  his 
election  as  an  Associate  of  the  Royal  Academy,  a 
fact  that  gratified  him  not  as  adding  anything  to 
his  repute,  but  as  being  a  compliment  to  the  school 
of  young  painters  of  which  he  was  the  acknowl- 
edged leader  and  ornament:  impressionists  whose 

s 


6  THE   PEST 

impressions  showed  the  world  to  be  beautiful; 
idealists  who  had  the  imagination  to  see  that  the 
ideal  is  but  the  better  part  of  the 'real. 

Maddison  paused  before  a  highly  lighted  pic- 
ture-dealer's window,  glancing  with  amusement  at 
the  conventional  prettiness  there  displayed;  then, 
turning  his  back  upon  it,  he  looked  across  the 
street,  debating  whether  he  should  cross  over  and 
have  some  tea  at  the  famous  pastry  cook's.  A 
tall,  slight  figure  of  a  woman,  neatly  dressed  in 
black,  caught  his  attention.  Obviously,  she  too 
was  hesitating  over  the  same  question.  In  spite 
of  the  simplicity  and  quiet  fashion  of  her  black 
gown,  her  air  was  elegant;  her  head  nicely  poised; 
her  shoulders  well  held;  the  lines  of  her  figure 
graceful,  lithe  and  seductive.  Though  he  could 
not  see  her  face  he  felt  certain  that  she  was  in- 
teresting and  attractive,  if  not  beautiful;  also, 
there  was  a  something  wistful  and  forlorn  about 
her  that  appealed  to  him.  Warily  stepping 
through  the  slippery  mud,  he  crossed  over  and 
stood  behind  her  for  a  moment,  marking  the 
graceful  tendrils  of  red-gold  hair  that  clustered 
round  the  nape  of  her  neck  and  the  delicate  shape 
and  coloring  of  her  ears.  As  she  turned  to  move 
away,  she  came  full  face  to  him,  instant  recogni- 
tion springing  into  her  eyes, 

"George — 1  "  she  exclaimed. 


THE    PEST  7 

"Miss  Lewis!" 

There  was  immediate  and  evident  constraint  on 
each  side,  as  though  the  sudden  meeting  were  half- 
welcome,  half-embarrassing. 

"Were  you  going  in  to  tea  here?"  he  asked. 
"I  was.  Let  me  come  with  you?  It's  an  age 
since  we  met.  It's  horrid  and  damp  out  here." 

"  It  is,"  she  replied,  slightly  shivering.  "  Yes, 
I  should  like  a  cup  of  tea." 

They  went  through  the  heavy  swing  doors, 
opened  for  them  by  a  diminutive  boy  in  buttons, 
into  the  long,  highly  decorated,  dimly  lighted, 
discreet  tea  room,  which  lacked  its  usual  crowd. 
A  few  couples,  in  one  case  two  young  men,  occu- 
pied the  cozy  corners,  to  one  of  the  more  remote 
of  which  Maddison  led  the  way,  and  settled  him- 
self and  his  companion  in  the  comfortable  arm- 
chairs. He  ordered  tea  and  cakes  of  the  pretty, 
black-eyed  waitress,  dainty  and  demure  in  the  uni- 
form of  deep,  dull  red. 

"  You  sigh  as  if  you  were  tired,  Miss  Lewis, 
and  glad  to  rest?  "  he  said,  trying  in  the  dim  light 
to  study  her  expression. 

"  I  am  tired  and  I  am  glad  to  rest.  It's  very 
cozy  in  here.  I've  never  been  here  before." 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  the  arm  of  the  chair 
next  to  him  and  he  noticed  that  she  wore  a  wed- 
ding ring. 


8  THE   PEST 

"  I  called  you  Miss  Lewis.     I  see ?" 

'  Yes — I'm  married.  I  don't  suppose  you  re- 
member much  about  Larchstone — I  recognized 
you  before  you  did  me ;  I  saw  you  across  the  road. 
But  just  possibly  you  do  remember  our  curate, 
Mr.  Squire — you  used  to  laugh  at  him.  I'm  Mrs. 
Squire.  He's  still  a  curate,  but  not  any  longer  in 
the  country.  We  live  at  Kennington;  what  a 
world  of  difference  one  letter  makes!  Kenning- 
ton— Kensington.  Have  you  ever  been  in  Ken- 
nington? " 

Maddison  remembered  Edward  Squire  dis- 
tinctly: a  tall,  gaunt  enthusiast,  clumsy  in  mind 
and  in  body.  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  as  a 
whirl  of  recollections  rushed  across  his  mind:  the 
red-roofed,  old-fashioned  village  of  Larchstone; 
the  old-world  rector  and  his  daughter,  a  pretty 
slip  of  a  country  girl,  who  had  grown  into — Mrs. 
Squire.  He  remembered  the  summer  weeks  he 
had  spent  there,  painting  in  the  famous  wood- 
lands, and  the  half-jesting,  half-serious  love  he 
had  made  to  the  rector's  daughter.  Since  then 
until  this  afternoon  he  had  not  met  her,  though 
the  memory  of  her  face,  with  the  searching  eyes, 
had  come  to  him  now  and  again. 

She  watched  him  as  he  dreamed.  He  had 
changed  very  little;  how  distinctly  she  had  al- 
ways remembered  him;  the  swarthy,  narrow  face 


THE    PEST  9 

framed  in  heavy  black  hair,  the  deep-set  black 
eyes,  the  thin  nose,  the  trim  pointed  beard  and 
mustache  hiding  the  sensual  mouth,  the  tall,  well-  ' 
knit  figure.  Far  more  vividly  than  he  did  she 
recall  those  summer  months;  in  her  life  they 
had  been  an  outstanding  event,  an  episode  merely 
in  his. 

"  Do  you  still  take  three  lumps  of  sugar?  "  she 
asked,  as  she  poured  out  the  tea. 

"  You  remember  that  ?  Yes,  still  three,  thanks." 

"  You  see,  I  hadn't  very  much  to  remember  in 
those  days." 

"  It's  five  years  ago — "  he  hesitated. 

"  Five  this  last  summer,  and  a  good  many 
things  have  happened  since  then.  My  father's 
dead — three  years  ago — and  I'm  a  good  young 
curate's  wife.  And  you?  But  I  needn't  ask;  the 
newspapers  have  told  me  all  about  you.  Are  you 
still  full  of  enthusiasms?" 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  think  so,  only  they're  crys- 
tallizing into  practices.  As  we  grow  older  the 
brain  grows  stiff,  and  we're  not  so  ready  to  go 
climbing  mountains  to  achieve  impossible  heights." 

"  You've  climbed  pretty  high.  A  step  higher 
to-day — A.R.A.  Fame,  success  and  money,  that's 
a  fairly  high  mountain  to  have  climbed — at  least 
it  looks  so  to  me." 

The  forlorn  tone  of  her  voice  confirmed  the 


io  THE    PEST 

impression  his  first  sight  of  her  had  made  upon 
him.  He  looked  at  her  keenly  as  she  sat  there 
with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  her  tea  which  she  was 
stirring  slowly.  She  had  become  a  very  lovely 
woman  and  a  poor  curate's  wife. 

"Lonely?"  he  asked  almost  unintentionally. 

"  Did  I  say  lonely?  "  she  asked  looking  quickly 
at  him.  "  We  were  talking  in  metaphors.  I  sup- 
pose that  way  of  talking  was  invented  by  some  one 
who  didn't  want  to  blurt  out  ugly  truths." 

"  Or  who  fancied  that  commonplace  ideas  be- 
come uncommon  when  divorced  from  common- 
place words." 

"  It's  strange,  isn't  it,  sitting  here,  chatting  like 
old  friends — after  all  this  time?  You  didn't  an- 
swer my  question:  have  you  ever  been  in  Ken- 
nington?  " 

"  I  go  down  to  the  Oval  now  and  then  to  watch 
the  cricket;  that's  all  I  know  about  Kennington." 

"  And  that's  nothing.  You  might  as  well  judge 
West  Kensington  by  an  Earl's  Court  exhibition, 
or  a  woman's  nature  by  her  face.  I  think  it  would 
do  you  good  to  see  more  of  Kennington.  I  can 
believe  that  to  anyone  who  has  lived  there  any 
other  place  on  earth  would  seem  heaven.'* 

"Heaven?" 

"  Even  the  other  place  would  be  an  improve- 
ment." 


THE    PEST  ii 

"  You're  rather  hard  on  Kenningt.on,  aren't 
you?" 

"  It's  very  hard  on  me!  It  stifles  me.  I  come 
up  to  town — you  see,  I  speak  of  coming  up  to 
town — every  now  and  then,  just  to  escape  from 
the  horrible  atmosphere.  There;  just  to  breathe 
freely  for  a  bit,  to  look  at  the  shops,  to  see  faces 
with  some  thoughts  in  them,  to  escape  from — 
Kennington." 

"  And  do  you  escape?  " 

11  Not  altogether.  The  atmosphere  there  is 
saturating." 

"  Does  your  husband  like  it?  " 

"  He  doesn't  know  anything  about  it.  Souls  to 
save  and  bodies  to  feed,  that's  his  simple  want 
in  life.  There  are  plenty  of  both  in  our  neigh- 
borhood. I  suppose  you  wouldn't  come  down  to 

see  us?  " 

"If  I  may ?» 

"  You  may,"  she  answered,  laughing  softly, 
almost  to  herself,  and  he  noticed  how  her  smile 
lit  up  her  whole  face  for  the  moment.  "  You'll 
seem  so  queer  down  there." 

"Why?" 

"  Just  think — but  no,  you  couldn't  realize  what 
I'm  laughing  at;  you've  never  been  in  Kennington, 
and — even  more  likely — have  never  seen  yourself 
as  I  see  you." 


12  THE    PEST 

Resisting  the  temptation  to  ask  her  in  what 
light  she  saw  him,  he  in  turn  laughed  as  he  looked 
down  into  the  provocative  face  turned  toward 
him. 

"  You're  getting  better,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  thanks;  the  tea  has  done  me  good,  and 
the  meeting  with  you." 

She  spoke  quite  frankly. 

"  I'm  glad,"  he  answered,  "  and  glad  I  was 
lucky  enough  to  meet  you." 

"  What  a  pretty,  empty  phrase,"  she  said,  with 
a  little  sigh  and  a  droop  of  the  corners  of  her 
mouth.  "  Sayings  like  that  are  the  threepenny 
bits  of  conversation;  they're  not  worth  sixpence, 
but  they're  better  than  coppers.  Now,  I  must 
be  off." 

"  It's  quite  early." 

"  Yes,  for  you.  But  for  me — Kennington  and 
high  tea;  but  you  know  neither  of  them." 

"  You've  asked  me  to  come " 

"  Not  to  high  tea.  Come  some  afternoon  or 
evening.  Drop  me  a  post  card  so  that  we  shall  be 
sure  to  be  in.  My  husband  will  be  so  glad  to  see 
you  again." 

"And  you?" 

"  I  have  seen  you  again." 

"  Very  well,  I'll  drop  you  a  line  of  warning. 
And  how  are  you  going  home?" 


THE    PEST  13 

"  By  a  clever  and  cheap  combination  of  penny 
bus  and  halfpenny  tram.  Now,  good-by,  and 
thank  you." 

They  lingered  a  moment  in  the  shop  entrance, 
warmth  and  coziness  behind,  the  darkness  and  the 
thickening  fog  before. 

"  I  don't  like  you're  going  alone.  The  fog's 
getting  very  thick." 

"Please  don't  worry  about  me;  if  the  tram 
can't  get  along  I  shall  walk.  Good-by,  and,  again, 
thank  you." 

Nodding  in  a  friendly  manner,  she  walked 
quickly  away,  leaving  him  irresolute.  But  he  soon 
determined  to  follow  her. 

'  You  really  must  let  me  see  you  home,"  he 
said,  as  he  caught  up  with  her;  "  it's  going  to  be 
bad." 

"  So  am  I,  and  insist  on  having  my  own  way. 
Don't  spoil  it  for  me.  I  don't  often  have  my 
own  way  with  anything  or  anybody." 

Again  she  walked  quickly  away  into  the  dark- 
ness. 


CHAPTER    II 

ACACIA  GROVE,  Kennington,  was  once  upon  a 
time,  and  not  so  many  years  ago,  the  home  of 
snug  citizens,  who  loved  to  dwell  on  the  border- 
land of  town  and  country.  It  is  a  wide  road  of 
two-storied  houses,  all  alike :  three  windows  to 
the  top  floor;  on  the  ground  floor,  two  windows 
and  a  hall  door,  painted  green  and  approached 
by  three  steep  steps;  a  front  garden,  generally 
laid  out  in  gravel  with  a  circular  bed  of  sooty 
shrubs  in  the  center  and  a  narrow  border  of 
straggling  flowers  along  each  side,  spike-headed 
railings  separating  the  garden  from  the  pavement. 
Few  of  the  gates  are  there  that  do  not  creak 
shrilly,  calling  aloud  for  oil.  In  one  of  these 
houses,  distinguished  only  from  its  neighbors  by 
its  number,  lodged  the  Reverend  Edward  Squire, 
occupying  the  front  "  parlor,"  a  small  den  at  the 
back  of  the  same,  and  the  front  bedroom  and 
dressing  room  on  the  upper  floor.  The  furniture 
throughout  was  plain,  inoffensive,  somber,  entirely 
unhomelike;  faded  green  curtains  with  yellow 
fringe  hung  at  the  parlor  windows,  by  one  of 
which  Marian  sat  in  the  gloaming  two  days  after 

'4 


THE   PEST  15 

her  meeting  with  Maddison.  The  fire  shed  a  flick- 
ering light  over  the  room  and  on  the  weary  face 
of  her  husband,  who  lay  back  asleep  in  a  heavy 
horsehair  armchair.  She  glanced  at  him  now  and 
then,  each  time  comparing  his  commonplace  fea- 
tures with  those  of  George  Maddison,  her  meet- 
ing with  whom  had  stirred  tumult  in  her  already 
mutinous  blood. 

Rousing  himself  at  length,  Squire  looked  at  his 
watch. 

"  Half-past  four !  I  must  be  off,  Marian. 
Don't  you  find  it  dismal  sitting  there  in  the 
dark?" 

"  You  can  dream  in  the  dark." 

"Dream?"  he  said,  standing  up  and  stretch- 
ing his  lanky  limbs,  stamping  his  heavy  feet  as 
though  cold.  "  Don't  you  dream  too  much,  dear? 
I  wish  parish  work  had  more  interest  for  you; 
there  is  so  much  to  do,  and " 

"  I  don't  do  much !  "  she  broke  in  sharply. 

"  I  wasn't  going  to  say  that.  Wouldn't  it  make 
life  brighter  for  you  if  you  spent  more  time  in 
brightening  it  for  others?  However,  I  mustn't 
stop  to  talk  now.  There's  a  meeting  of  the  Boot 
Club  at  a  quarter  to  five,  and  several  things  after 
that.  I  can't  get  back  till  about  half-past  six :  will 
that  be  too  late  for  tea  ?  " 

He  stood  beside  her,   feeling  clumsily  helpless 


16  THE   PEST 

to  express  his  sympathy  with  her  evident  discon- 
tent, and  unable  to  help  her. 

"  No,  I  don't  mind  what  time,"  she  answered, 
turning  her  back  toward  him,  and  looking  out  at 
the  dreary  prospect  of  leafless  trees  and  dim  gas 
lamps. 

He  stooped  to  kiss  her,  but  she  pushed  him 
away. 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Edward;  everyone  can  see  into 
the  room.  If  you  don't  go,  you'll  be  late." 

With  a  sigh  he  turned  away  and  went  out. 

For  months  past  hatred  of  her  home  life  had 
been  growing  in  her,  and  it  had  been  intensified, 
brought  to  fever  heat,  by  her  meeting  with  Mad- 
dison.  His  prosperity  had  emphasized  the  dun- 
ness  of  her  own  career.  Why  had  he  ever  made 
love  to  her,  giving  her  a  glimpse  of  brightness, 
and  then  left  her  to  be  driven  by  circumstances 
to  accept  her  husband's  dogged  love,  to  accept 
this  life  of  struggle,  to  accept  this  daily  round 
of  distasteful  tasks  and  hateful  duties?  In  the 
country  days  she  had  accepted  without  energy  to 
protest  against  the  routine  work  of  a  clergyman's 
daughter;  but  here  in  London,  her  blood  had 
caught  afire,  the  devil  of  revolt  was  astir,  her 
whole  heart  and  soul  rebelled  against  the  wasting 
of  her  youth  and  beauty.  In  the  old  home  there 
had  been  none  with  whom  to  compare  herself; 


THE   PEST  17 

but  in  town  hundreds  of  women,  with  smaller  gifts 
of  body  and  mind  than  her  own,  led  a  full  and 
joyous  life.  She  raged  to  think  that  she  should 
bloom  and  fade,  never  knowing  the  glory  of 
living. 

She  rose  slowly,  let  the  heavy  Venetian  blind 
run  down  with  a  crash,  drew  the  curtains  close, 
and  lit  the  gas.  She  stood  before  the  glass  over 
the  mantelpiece,  looking  at  her  reflection.  Then 
with  growing  disgust  she  turned  and  glanced 
round  the  meager  room.  In  a  basket  was  a  pile 
of  accumulated  mending  waiting  for  her;  on  the 
small  writing  table — above  which  hung  a  crucifix 
— several  account  books,  which  would  have  to 
be  made  up  this  evening.  She  stood  there,  tall, 
fair,  throbbing  with  rebellion,  longing  to  escape. 
Again  the  question  that  she  had  so  often  asked 
herself  during  the  last  two  days  came  to  her:  was 
it  possible  that  George  Maddison  would  offer  to 
free  her?  He  had  nearly,  if  not  quite,  loved  her 
once;  were  there  any  means  by  which  she  could 
lure  him  to  her  again? 

A  sharp  knock  at  the  house  door  startled  but 
did  not  interest  her,  the  caller  doubtless  being 
for  Edward,  and  his  visitors  did  not  amuse  her. 
Her  conjecture  was  wrong.  The  neat  little  maid 
servant,  who  feared  her  master  and  adored  his 
wife,  opened  the  parlor  door,  stammering  out — 


i8  THE    PEST 

"  A  gentleman  wants  to  know  if  you're  at 
home,  mum.  He  wants  to  see  you,  mum." 

"  Are  you  sure  he  wanted  to  see  me?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  if  I  may,"  said  Maddison,  ap- 
pearing in  the  doorway;  "or  are  you  not  4  at 
home'?" 

"Of  course  I'm  at  home;  we  don't  indulge 
even  in  conventional  fibs  in  Kennington.  Do 
come  in;  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you.  I  didn't  think 
you'd  really  come." 

"Why  not?"  he  asked,  shaking  hands  with 
her.  "  Could  I  resist  such  a  persuasive  descrip- 
tion as  you  gave  me?  It  was  so  alluring  that  I 
walked  the  whole  way,  and,  upon  my  word,  I 
declare  you  have  done  the  neighborhood  an  injus- 
tice. I've  been  in  worse." 

"  Very  likely  it's  my  fault." 

They  sat  at  either  side  of  the  fire  for  some 
little  while  silent;  he  noting  the  room,  and  fur- 
tively examining  her  face  as  she  stared  into  the 
fire.  He  could  see  the  tears  that  hovered  in  the 
corners  of  her  eyes. 

"  Your  fault?  "  he  said  at  length.  "  You  look 
fagged;  you  want  a  change." 

"  A  change !  "  she  exclaimed,  laughing  hardly. 

She  stood  up,  leaned  her  arm  upon  the  mantel- 
piece, and  looked  down  at  him. 

"  A  change !     You  don't  know  the  irony  of 


THE   PEST  19 

what  you've  said,  Mr.  Maddison.  A  change! 
Do  you  realize  that  each  day  drags  along  just 
the  same  as  the  days  before  have  been,  and  the 
days  after  will  be?  Never  a  shadow  of  a  change  1 
And  so  all  the  life  is  being  crushed  out  of  me. 
If  I'd  only  known;  but  what's  the  good  of  talk- 
ing this  way,  and  why  on  earth  should  I  trouble 
you  with  my  worries?  " 

She  was  a  splendid  rebel  and  Maddison's  pulse 
stirred  with  sympathy  and  attraction.  She  looked 
to  him  like  some  fine,  wild  animal,  caged,  eating 
out  her  heart  for  freedom. 

"  I  almost  wish  I  hadn't  met  you  the  other 
day,"  she  continued.  "  I  know  that  sounds  rude; 
what  I  mean  is,  it's  bad  enough  to  be  here,  but 
it  makes  it  worse,  ever  so  much  worse,  to  realize 
what  I've  not  got." 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you,"  he  said. 

She  sat  down  again  and  again  looked  into  the 
fire,  which  she  stirred  into  a  roaring  blaze. 

"  It  would  have  been  better  had  I  stopped 
on  in  the  country;  I  was  only  half  alive  there. 
I  just  vegetated.  Edward,  my  husband,  had  what 
he  thought  was  a  *  call '  to  come  up  and  work 
among  the  poor  in  London,  so  he  brought  me 
here.  I  wonder  do  you  know  the  kind  of  man 
he  is?  " 

"  I  can  guess.1* 


20  THE   PEST 

"  He's  good,  because  he  never  has  any  temp- 
tation to  be  anything  else.  He's  content,  and 
works,  eats,  drinks,  sleeps;  he  tries  to  be  kind 
and  sympathetic,  and — nearly  drives  me  mad. 
Don't  you  think  it  strange,"  she  asked,  look- 
ing at  him  eagerly,  "  that  I  should  be  talking 
to  you  like  this?  I  must — must  talk  to  some 
one." 

"  I'm  glad  you  look  on  me  as  a  friend.  I  wish 
I  could  help  you." 

"  You  are  helping  me  by  letting  me  talk  to 
you.  I  wonder  do  you  understand  a  bit  of  what's 
the  matter?  Can  you  understand?  You've  al- 
ways been  free,  and  could  make  your  life  for 
yourself.  I'm  strong,  but  I  mayn't  even  try  to 
use  my  strength.  I  hate  all  this  cant  about 
women's  rights ;  every  woman  can  have  her  rights 
if  she  only  dares  to  take  them.  But  we're  all  bred 
up  to  be  dependent  cowards.  Now,  I  suppose 
you're  shocked?  " 

"  Why?  I  think  I  understand  what  you  mean 
— what  you  feel.  Does — your  husband  know?" 

"He?  He  couldn't  understand  I  He  would 
try  to,  and  would  advise  me  to  go  out  and  work 
here  with  him.  I  did  do  some  work  with  him, 
but  it  only  sickened  me.  And  the  people  he 
works  withl  Gossiping,  chattering,  self-im- 
portant humbugs.  So  now  I  sit  all  day  with 


THE    PEST  21 

my  hands  in  my  lap  and  cry  like  a  baby  for  a 
moon  I  could  have  if  I  dared  take  it.  I'm  young 
— and — what's  the  use  of  not  saying  it? — pretty, 
and " 

She  clenched  her  hands  on  the  arms  of  her 
chair  and  set  her  teeth  firmly.  The  fire  shed  a 
warm  glow  over  the  handsome,  alluring  face;  he 
watched  her  with  admiration.  A  picture  ready 
to  his  hand.  The  dull,  stupid  room;  the  woman, 
splendidly  rebellious.  What  was  she  going  to 
make  of  her  future  ? 

"  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  help  me!  "  he  ex- 
claimed. "Let  me  paint  your  portrait;  not  an 
ordinary  portrait.  The  subject  has  been  in  my 
head  for  a  long  time,  but  I've  never  been  able 
to  grasp  it  until  just  a  moment  ago.  I  shall 
call  it  '  The  Rebel.'  Will  you  come  up  two 
or  three  times  a  week  to  my  studio  and  sit 
forme?" 

"Shall  I?"  she  answered,  looking  doubtfully 
at  him — "  shall  I  ?  And  then  when  it's  over, 
come  back  here — here!  " 

He  had  his  thoughts  and  she  had  hers,  but 
neither  expressed  them  or  guessed  the  other's. 

"  It  would  only  make  me  more  angry  with 
things,"  she  said;  "no,  you  don't  understand  me 
a  bit.  It  must  be  all — or  nothing.  A  sweet 
to-day  and  bread-and-butter  every  other  day? 


22  THE    PEST 

No,  no.  Understand?  It  has  been  so  bad 
with  me  that  I  stood  on  Westminster  Bridge  the 
other  night  after  I  left  you,  and  looked  at  the 
water;  I  am  such  a  coward  that  I  came  home  to 
this." 

"  So  —  you  won't  help  me  to  paint  my  pic- 
ture?" 

"  I'll  think  about  it,  and  let  you  know.  When 
shall  I  come  ?  " 

Maddison  took  out  his  engagement  book  and 
turned  over  the  pages. 

"  You  have  to  find  time  between  one  engage- 
ment and  another,"  she  said,  watching  him;  "  I'm 
free  every  day." 

"  To-day's  Tuesday;  would  Thursday,  eleven, 
suit  you?  We  could  go  and  have  lunch  some- 
where afterwards." 

"  I  can't  decide.  Will  you  leave  it  open?  I'll 
just  come,  if  I'm  coming,  and,  if  I  don't  come, 
it  will  mean  I'd  rather  you  didn't  come  here 
again." 

"  I  won't  worry  about  that.  I'll  just  hope  you 
will  come.  Now,  I  must  be  going.  Good-by, 
and — again — I  wish  I  could  help  you." 

As  Maddison  drove  home,  he  was  in  doubt  as 
to  what  course  he  should  pursue  in  this  adventure 
so  suddenly  thrown  his  way.  Marian  greatly 
attracted  him,  both  by  her  beauty  and  her  brains, 


THE    PEST  23 

but  he  did  not  as  yet  feel  disposed  to  face  the 
scandal  that  must  come  if  he  took  her  away  from 
her  husband,  should  she  care  to  come  to  him, 
and  should  he  care  to  ask  her.  He  felt  certain 
that  if  he  saw  much  more  of  her  he  would  fall 
under  her  fascination,  yet,  weakly,  he  had  given 
her  this  invitation  rather  than  run  the  risk  of 
not  meeting  her  frequently,  rather  than  have  to 
meet  her  in  the  dismal  surroundings  of  her 
home. 

During  the  last  few  years  he  had  drilled  him- 
self into  not  yielding  to  his  every  impulse. 
When  he  had  first  met  her  the  desire  bred  in 
him  by  her  country  comeliness  had  almost  led 
him  into  marrying  her;  its  renewal  urged  him 
strongly  to  ask  her  to  be  his  mistress.  He  be- 
lieved that  she  would  yield.  What  would  be 
the  outcome  of  such  a  course?  She  was  evi- 
dently trembling  on  the  brink  of  revolt,  undecided 
whether  or  not  to  dare  all.  Should  he  tempt 
her?  There  could  be  no  question  as  to  her 
beauty,  which  was  of  a  type  that  had  always  ap- 
pealed to  him.  Tall,  lithe,  well-proportioned; 
elegant  in  face  and  figure — how  lovely  she  would 
look  daintily  dressed !  No  mere  animal,  but  a 
woman. 

Between  now  and  Thursday  he  must  decide 
with  regard  to  her. 


24  THE    PEST 

Then  the  fear  shot  into  his  mind  that  perhaps 
she  would  not  come. 

When  he  had  left  the  room,  Marian  sat  down 
again  by  the  fire,  her  face  lit  up  by  a  smile  of 
complete  satisfaction. 

She  was  not  trembling  on  the  brink  of  revolt. 
When  she  had  met  him  that  foggy  afternoon  she 
had  been  so,  but  only  because  she  felt  helpless. 
Now  succor  had  come.  She  felt  certain  that  she 
could  win  Maddison  to  her  will,  that  she  would 
be  able  to  use  him  as  the  stepping-stone  to  the 
luxury  and  power  for  which  she  lusted.  He  had 
almost  loved  her  in  the  old  days,  he  nearly  loved 
her  now  after  these  two  brief  meetings;  at  any 
rate  he  was  sorry  for  her.  She  would  tempt  him 
and  he  would  fall. 

Again  she  looked  at  herself  in  the  mirror;  she 
was  made  to  conquer.  This  man,  and  others, 
should  be  hers.  She  held  the  two  most  powerful 
of  weapons,  beauty  and  heartlessness,  and  would 
use  both  without  scruple. 

She  laughed  as  she  thought  of  her  upbringing 
in  the  little  country  village,  of  her  ever  having  be- 
lieved that  she  could  live  content  as  a  curate's 
wife.  Whence  came  this  unruliness  in  her  blood? 
She  could  understand  the  discontent  with  the 
physical  conditions  of  her  life,  but  her  desires 


THE    PEST  25 

went  far  beyond  that.  It  was  not  merely  for 
love  and  luxury  that  she  longed,  but  for  power 
— power  over  the  body  and  mind  of  men  of 
power. 

Maddison  would  not  satisfy  all  her  cravings; 
but  he  could  take  her  away  out  into  the  world,  and 
there  she  knew  she  could  win. 

She  had  in  her  the  confidence  of  a  conqueror. 


CHAPTER   III 

ON  Thursday  morning  Maddison  waited  im- 
patiently for  Marian,  though  he  never  for  a  mo- 
ment doubted  but  that  she  would  come. 

Absence  from  her  had  made  her  influence  the 
stronger;  each  hour  the  recollection  of  her  face 
had  grown  more  clear — the  droop  of  the  eyelids, 
their  sudden  lifting  and  the  keen,  searching  look 
of  her  eyes;  the  dainty  poise  of  her  head,  the 
masses  of  red-gold  hair,  the  little  mouth  with  its 
moist,  tempting  lips;  the  tall  figure,  the  clean,  de- 
termined movements. 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  studio  waiting  for 
her. 

Many  pretty  women  had  sat  to  him  there, 
some  of  whom  had  tempted  him  and  to  a  few  of 
whom  he  had  fallen  willing  captive  for  a  time. 
But  Marian  held  him  by  a  stronger  spell;  it  was 
not  merely  her  beauty  that  called  so  imperatively 
to  him.  She  was  a  complete  woman,  body  and 
brain,  and  to  touch  her  heart,  to  win  it,  to  keep 
it,  to  be  able  to  hurt  it — that  he  must  do. 

But  she  did  not  come  and  the  hour  was  past. 

Was  she  fooling  him,  luring  him  on?     He  could 

16 


THE    PEST  27 

not  credit  that;  he  had  watched  her  keenly  and 
it  had  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  ready  to  rebel 
but  did  not  dare  revolt,  and  that  it  remained  for 
him  to  decide  whether  or  not  she  should  attain 
her  freedom.  To  him  this  world  was  a  delightful 
dwelling  place,  in  which  wise  men  gained  all  of 
pleasure  upon  which  they  could  lay  hands.  To 
make  her  his  own  would  bring  him  complete  sat- 
isfaction, at  any  rate  for  a  time.  As  for  the 
future,  only  fools  toted  up  bills  that  might  have 
to  be  paid.  There  was  one  cost,  however,  which 
he  would  have  to  pay,  the  thought  of  which  had 
at  first  given  him  pause.  Doubtless  Squire  would 
sue  for  a  divorce,  and,  though  the  case  would  be 
undefended,  nevertheless  it  would  cause  consider- 
able scandal.  Afterwards,  would  she  ask  him  to 
marry  her?  That  he  would  not  do,  for  it  was  a 
part  of  his  creed  that  a  woman  who  has  left  one 
man  had  best  be  left  free  to  desert  the  next. 

As  he  waited  impatiently,  the  question  came 
to  him  more  forcibly  than  it  had  done  before: 
did  Marian  care  for  him?  Their  two  meetings 
had  been  brief,  and  there  had  been  no  hint  of 
love  making.  He  thought  that  she  was  desperate 
enough  to  grasp  at  any  hand  held  out  to  her, 
that  she  would  be  easy  to  win.  The  idea  of 
the  picture  had  suggested  itself  opportunely,  and 
he  had  seized  on  it  as  a  convenient  and  plausi- 


28  THE    PEST 

ble  excuse  for  their  meetings.  He  fancied  that 
she  would  accept  the  chance  eagerly,  yet  she  had 
not  seemed  to  do  so,  had  hesitated,  and  now — he 
laughed  angrily  at  the  state  of  irritated  disap- 
pointment into  which  he  was  working  himself. 

Perhaps  she  had  been  delayed,  or  detained 
at  the  last  moment.  Probably  she  would  write, 
or  maybe  come  up  in  the  afternoon  to  explain. 

He  had  arranged  to  lunch  in  the  studio,  luck- 
ily, so  would  not  be  out  if  she  did  arrive  later. 
He  looked  at  the  pretty  white  table,  which  stood 
so  daintily  in  the  broad  alcove  before  the  wide 
hearth,  with  the  quaint  colored  glasses  and  old 
silver.  How  delicious  she  would  look  against  the 
dark  oak  of  the  fireplace! 

A  ring  at  the  door! 

The  housekeeper  anriounced  "  Mr.  Mortimer," 
and  Maddison  fumed  that  he  had  forgotten  to 
say  that  he  expected  a  sitter,  and  was  not  to  be 
disturbed. 

"  Well,  George,"  said  Mortimer,  putting  up 
his  eyeglass  as  he  walked  into  the  room.  "  I'm 
extra  busy  at  the  office,  so  it's  jollier  than  ever  to 
come  up  and  waste  an  hour  with  you.  It's  no 
fun  lounging  when  there's  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  do  so.  Ah !  you  were  expecting  some 
one — me,  of  course !  " 

He  glanced  at  the  luncheon  table,  quizzically. 


THE   PEST  29 

He  was  short,  sturdy,  with  a  somewhat  bullet- 
shaped  head,  covered — though  thin  at  top— with 
crisp,  curly  black  hair.  His  features  were  Orien- 
tal in  cast,  with  a  tendency  toward  coarseness,  and 
his  voice  somewhat  thick  and  heavy. 

He  sat  down  on  the  steps  that  led  up  to  the 
broad,  deep  bow  window,  laying  down  his  glossy 
hat  and  natty  stick  on  the  rug  beside  him. 

"  I  had  meant  to  stay  at  least  half  an  hour,  and 
possibly  to  carry  you  off  to  lunch,  but " 

"  But  you  think  I  don't  want  you,"  answered 
Maddison,  laughing.  "  I  don't  think  I  shall  mind 
much.  I  was  expecting  an  old  friend,  whom  I 
met  the  other  day  for  the  first  time  for  years. 
She's  going  to  sit  for  me " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  why  explain  ?  Who  would 
suspect  you  of  being  foolish  enough  to  lunch  alone 
when  good  company  was  procurable?  I  notice 
you  say  you  were  expecting?  " 

"  Mrs.  Squire  was  to  have  been  here  at  eleven ; 
then  two  hours'  work,  then  lunch.  It's  now  half- 
past  twelve " 

"  Did  you  fix  any  time  for  lunch?  " 

"  Have  a  cigarette  and  don't  be  cynical.  You 
forget  that  pose  don't  pay  with  me.  How  people 
would  laugh  if  they  found  you  out!  Not  a  cyni- 
cal old  bachelor,  but  just  as  romantic  and  soft 
hearted  as  man  could  be." 


30  THE   PEST 

"They  won't  laugh,  because  they  never  will 
know.  Even  if  you  told  them,  they'd  not  believe 
you.  Is  it  a  portrait  or  a  picture  you're  starting 
out  on?" 

"  Picture.  I  won't  talk  about  it,  though.  As 
you  know,  I  can't  talk  about  my  ideas;  they 
must  just  boil  over,  and  then,  if  possible,  or  as 
far  as  possible,  I  get  them  on  canvas.  What  a 
painter  I  should  be  if  only  I  could  make  facts 
of  all  my  fancies.  There's  the  blank  canvas,  and 
in  my  mind  the  picture.  I  wonder  will  you  ever 
see  it?" 

•"  I  wonder  are  you  as  impressionable  as  you 
used  to  be?  And — it's  a  beastly  word,  but  there 
is  no  other — and  as  romantic  as  you  still  appear 
to  be  ?  As  far  as  I  know,  you've  never  really  been 
in  love,  George:  perhaps  it's  better  that  way  for 
a  painter  or  a  poet,  never  to  feel  very  deeply.  He 
should  understand  deep  feelings,  but  never  expe- 
rience them.  What  do  you  think?  " 

"  I  don't  think  about  art.  Art's  in  us,  and 
comes  out  as  well  as  it  can.  That's  all  there  is 
to  it.  There's  only  one  rule  of  art:  don't  lie,  don't 
make  up  things;  and  if  you  can  hit  oil  a  new 
truth,  or  can  tell  an  old  truth  perfectly,  you're  a 
genius.  That's  all." 

"What  arc  you?" 

"  How  can  I  know?" 


THE   PEST  31 

"  You're  not  in  love,  George?  " 

"What  the  deuce  makes  you  say  that?  Who 
said  I  was?  " 

"  Nobody.  But  I  thought  you  were  at  first — 
with  Mrs.  What's-her-name,  who  should  have 
been  here.  But  you  can't  be,  or  not  badly,  or 
you  would  not  have  talked  '  shop  '  so  enthusias- 
tically." 

"  That's  no  proof.  I  don't  think  I  could 
ever  love  a  woman  as  much  as  I  do  my  work.  I 
can't  believe  that,  if  ever  I  had  to  choose  between 
my  work  and  a  woman,  I  should  choose  the 
woman." 

"Touch  wood,  old  chap,  touch  wood;  though 
even  that  powerful  magic  won't  make  you  safe. 
Just  wait  till  '  she  '  comes  along,  and  then,  Lord 
preserve  you !  You — I  can  see  you  just  mad  for 
a  woman." 

"  You're  wrong.  No  woman  I've  ever  seen 
has  made  me  forget  myself." 

"  No  woman — yet.  That  doesn't  insure  the 
future." 

"  No ;  but  I  haven't  any  fears." 

"  That's  what  I  used  to  say,  once  upon  a  time." 

"And ?" 

"  I've  grown  older  and  wiser.  But  that's  a 
story  too  stupid  and  too  common  to  be,  worth 
telling.  You — you're  capable  of  sacrificing  every- 


32  THE   PEST 

thing  for  a  woman,  for  the  woman;  and,  after  all, 
it's  the  only  thing  worth  making  sacrifices  for. 
Venus  is  the  only  goddess  worth  worshipers." 

"  You  romantic  old  cynic  I  " 

"  Cynic !  I  wonder  how  that  ever  came  to 
be  a  term  of  reproach?  A  cynic's  simply  a  man 
who  has  learned  that  impulses  should  be  re- 
strained by  reason.  Most  men  find  that  wisdom 
when  their  impulses  have  ceased  to  be  tempta- 
tions. Good  Lord!  George,  I  came  up  here 
to  lounge,  and  you  mislead  me  into  talking  art 
and  philosophy.  The  least  compensation  you  can 
offer  me  is — lunch.  I'm  hungry." 

Mortimer  went  off  after  luncheon,  and  Mad- 
dison  was  once  more  free  to  study  the  problem 
that  faced  him.  Mortimer's  belief  that  he  could 
ever  be  induced  to  throw  all  else  aside  for  the  love 
of  a  woman  had  amused  him  and  instilled  into 
him  a  spirit  of  dare-deviltry,  of  intense  desire 
to  make  hot  love  to  Marian,  for  whom  his  long- 
ing grew  keener  and  keener — just  to  prove  that 
he  could  play  with  fire  without  burning  his 
fingers. 

Wonder  at  her  not  coming  to  him  was  now 
being  supplanted  by  anxiety  lest  some  accident 
should  have  befallen  her. 

If  he  walked  down  to  Kennington  he  would  not 
be  there  until  after  three  o'clock,  not  too  early 


THE   PEST  33 

an  hour  for  a  call  in  so  unfashionable  a  neigh- 
borhood. 

He  walked  slowly,  surprised  at  the  keenness  of 
the  anxiety  he  was  now  enduring.  Had  Marian, 
already,  after  two  brief  meetings,  become  so  much 
to  him  that  the  fear  of  any  hurt  having  come  to 
her  filled  him  with  rage?  How  clearly  he  con- 
jured up  his  last  sight  of  her,  as  she  stood  back 
to  the  fire,  whose  light  glinted  through  her  hair. 
How  graceful  and  gracious  she  had  looked.  Yes, 
he  feared  love  unfulfilled,  not  love  unrequited. 

The  gate  creaked  dismally  as  he  pushed  it  open. 
He  walked  quickly  up  the  gravel  path,  looking 
sharply  up  at  the  parlor  window,  through  which 
in  the  dusk  he  could  see  the  firelight  dancing  on 
the  ceiling. 

"  Mrs.  Squire  was  not  in.  Would  he  wait?" 
said  the  little  maid. 

Curiously  the  chance  that  she  might  not  be  in 
had  not  occurred  to  him,  and  he  drew  his  breath 
sharply  at  the  news. 

"  Is  she  likely  to  be  in  soon?  " 

"  I  dunno — shall  I  ask  master?" 

He  told  her  not  to  trouble  and  turned  away. 
He  could  not  run  the  risk  of  having  to  face 
Squire,  bearing  in  mind  the  errand  on  which  he 
had  come. 

Apparently    nothing    unusual    had    occurred. 


34  THE    PEST 

Why  had  she  not  kept  her  appointment?  Or, 
if  unable  to  do  so,  why  had  she  not  written  or 
telegraphed  to  him?  Had  it  meant  so  little  to 
her  that  she  had  forgotten  it? 

The  best  thing  for  him  to  do  was  to  put  the 
matter  on  one  side,  to  wait  awhile,  to  watch. 
Perhaps  she  had  written  and  the  letter  had  been 
delayed. 

He  walked  some  little  distance  before  he  could 
obtain  a  cab,  and  so,  home. 

There  came  no  letter. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THAT  afternoon  Marian  had  gone  out,  think- 
ing it  possible  Maddison  might  call,  and  she  was 
pleased  to  hear  on  her  return  that  he  had  done  so. 
He  was  anxious  then:  waiting  makes  the  heart 
grow  fonder. 

But  it  had  not  occurred  to  her  that  he  might 
stalemate  her  by  adopting  similar  tactics  to  her 
own.  Several  days  went  by  and  he  neither  made 
any  appearance  nor  gave  any  sign,  so  that  she 
began  to  fear  that  she  possessed  either  little  or 
no  influence  over  him. 

If  he  failed  her  she  could  think  of  no  means  by 
which  she  could  effect  her  escape  from  the  life 
which  she  so  loathed.  Merely  to  leave  her  hus- 
band would  be  cutting  herself  off  from  the  security 
of  respectability  without  gaining  any  compensating 
advantages.  To  go  to  Maddison  would  be  dif- 
ferent; through  him  she  would  make  friends  and 
acquaintances,  whom  she  did  not  doubt  she  could 
use  to  her  advantage. 

In  the  country  the  growth  of  her  mind  had 
been  stunted,  though,  on  the  other  hand,  to  those 
years  of  fresh  air  and  simple  life  she  owed  her 

35 


36  THE   PEST 

superb  health.  Her  education  had  been  scanty, 
with  the  one  exception  of  music — singing  and  the 
pianoforte  having  been  taught  her  by  the  church 
organist,  an  enthusiastic  old  bachelor  of  small 
means  but  of  fine  taste  and  accomplishment.  She 
was  not  an  expert  performer;  she  had  not  a 
voice  which  could  be  coined  into  guineas;  but  to 
her  own  accompaniment  she  sang  with  feeling  and 
effect  simple  ballads,  sometimes  those  of  her  own 
countryside.  Of  literature  and  art  she  knew  little 
and  was  content  in  her  ignorance.  Innate  good 
taste  enabled  her  to  dress  to  advantage.  In  con- 
versation she  had  the  knack  of  making  such  use  of 
the  small  knowledge  she  possessed  as  to  hide  de- 
ficiencies. With  curious  acuteness  and  minuteness 
she  had  taken  stock  of  her  capabilities  and  defects, 
realizing  fully  that  on  the  whole  she  was  well 
equipped  for  the  world  of  adventure. 

Two  rules  she  had  laid  down  for  herself;  never 
to  lose  control  over  her  emotions  and  always  to 
remember  that  the  most  powerful  woman  is  she 
who  seems  most  weak.  She  understood  clearly 
that  her  chief  handicap  was  lack  of  experience, 
but  she  believed  that  in  a  woman  instinct  takes  the 
place  of  knowledge.  She  would  feel  her  way 
carefully,  step  by  step,  watching  and  probing,  but 
the  first  step  and  the  most  difficult  was  to  free  her- 
self and  to  obtain  a  footing  in  the  greater  world. 


THE    PEST  37 

She  had  almost  despaired  of  ever  doing  this,  when 
so  unexpectedly  she  had  met  with  Maddison.  She 
had  watched  his  career  with  interest  and  with 
admiration  of  its  brilliant  and  rapid  success,  and 
now  she  upbraided  herself  because  it  had  never 
entered  into  her  calculations  that  she  might  be 
able  to  utilize  him  in  the  attaining  of  her  ambi- 
tions. She  ought  to  have  remembered  how  near 
to  loving  her  he  had  once  been. 

So  far,  in  her  dealings  with  him,  she  did  not 
think  that  she  had  made  any  error.  She  had 
shown  no  interest  in  him,  which  she  believed 
was  the  best  way  to  pique  him  into  feeling  in- 
terest in  her.  She  had  talked  of  herself,  had  told 
him  enough  to  enable  him  to  see  clearly  how 
dissatisfied  she  was  with  her  present  lot.  She 
now  felt  that  all  that  remained  for  her  to  do  was 
to  persuade  him  that  she  was  worth  winning,  not 
merely  for  her  beauty,  but  because  she  could  add 
to  the  attractiveness  and  pleasure  of  his  life.  She, 
however,  did  not  know  anything  of  his  way  of 
life,  and  did  not  even  know  whether  any  other 
woman  held  the  place  she  wished  to  obtain  for 
herself. 

He  had  vaguely  said  that  he  was  willing  to 
help  her;  he  had  shown  anxiety  by  at  once  call- 
ing when  she  had  failed  to  go  to  him;  but,  since 
then,  silence.  The  next  move  was  left  to  her,  and 


38  THE    PEST 

with  all  her  care  she  might  make  a  false  one.  She 
knew  that  he  was  emotional,  and  conjectured 
that,  once  roused,  no  scruple  of  conventional 
morality  would  be  a  hindrance  to  him  in  achieving 
his  desire. 

If  she  were  to  approach  him  again  now,  with- 
out any  reasonable  excuse  for  doing  so,  she 
feared  that  she  might  fail  to  gain  his  help,  and 
such  a  failure  would  mean  lasting  defeat.  There 
was  no  means  that  she  could  think  of  by  which 
she  could  bring  him  to  her.  To  wait  indefinitely 
was  not  only  dangerous  but  repugnant  to  her 
daily  intensifying  longing  for  escape  from  her 
present  life.  So  far,  she  had  considered  only  two 
of  the  three  factors  in  the  case — herself  and  Mad- 
dison.  It  remained  to  be  proved  whether  or  not 
she  could  work  her  will  by  the  instrumentality  of 
her  husband. 

She  knew  his  intense  devotion  to  her,  but  that, 
great  as  it  was,  it  weighed  nothing  against  his 
sense  of  right  and  wrong.  She  did  not  hold 
the  first  place  in  his  life:  that  was  given  to 
his  work.  Love,  health,  comfort,  success — all 
were  nothing  in  the  scales  against  duty.  Further, 
even  if  he  were  willing  to  give  up  all  for  her, 
he  could  neither  help  her  ambitions  nor  satisfy 
her  longings,  the  chief  of  which,  indeed,  was  to 
be  free  from  him. 


THE    PEST  39 

More  than  once  he  had  spoken  to  her  almost 
sternly  of  her  idleness  and  unwillingness  to  assist 
him.  Was  it  not  possible  in  this  connection  to 
bring  about  some  breach  between  them  ?  In  some 
indefinite  way  she  felt  a  desire  to  quarrel  with 
him.  At  this  very  time  he  was  constantly  urg- 
ing her  to  join  the  small  band  of  women  who, 
under  his  guidance,  were  laboring  to  bring  some- 
thing of  decency  and  comfort  into  the  lives 
of  the  wretched  dwellers  in  some  notorious  slum 
property  in  the  parish.  She  steadfastly  refused. 
It  was  not  work  which  she  could  or  would  do. 

When  this  thought  came  to  her,  she  was  en- 
gaged upon  some  accounts,  which  he  had  asked 
her  to  have  complete  for  an  important  meeting 
in  the  evening. 

She  closed  the  books  almost  untouched,  feeling 
fairly  confident  that  this  remissness  would  lead 
to  remonstrance  on  his  part,  which  she  could  make 
an  excuse  for  defiance. 

Coming  home  late  in  the  afternoon,  Squire 
found  her,  as  often  he  had  done  of  late,  sitting 
idly  in  the  dusk  by  the  window,  looking  out  at 
the  dreary  prospect.  The  fire  had  sunk  low,  and 
the  glowing  coals  shed  but  a  dim  light  over  the 
room. 

He  was  tired,  physically  and  mentally,  and  a 
stir  of  anger  came  to  him  to  find  her  sitting  there 


40  THE    PEST 

thus,  knowing  that  she  knew  that  he  considered 
this  idleness  wrong. 

He  sat  down  heavily  in  the  worn  armchair,  and 
began  to  unlace  his  boots ;  his  feet  would  be  rested 
by  an  hour  or  so  of  slippers. 

"  I'm  very  tired,"  he  said;  but  she  made  no 
answer. 

"  How  have  you  got  on  with  the  accounts  ?  " 
he  asked  after  a  pause.  "  I  suppose  they  were 
all  right?" 

"  I  don't  know.     I  haven't  touched  them." 

"  Not  touched  them  I  "  he  exclaimed,  aghast, 
and  turning  sharply  to  her.  "  Not  touched 
theml  You — knew  they  must  be  ready  for  to- 
night!" 

"  Yes,  I  knew." 

She  stood  up,  let  the  blinds  down,  pulled  to 
the  curtains  viciously,  and  then  went  over  to  the 
chimney-piece  for  the  matches.  She  struck  a  light 
and  turned  up  the  gas,  which  blazed  up  into 
a  shrieking  flame,  and,  in  turning  it  low,  she 
turned  it  out.  She  lit  the  gas  again,  and  then 
stood  leaning  against  the  table,  watching  his  face 
of  amazement. 

'"  I  don't  understand,"  he  said,  looking  at  her 
with  puzzled  eyes.  "  You  knew  they  must  be 
done,  and  you  haven't  touched  them?  You're 
not  ill?" 


THE    PEST  41 

"  No,  quite  well.  It's  just  this,  Edward,  this 
life  is  killing  me;  you  must  change  it.  I've  done 
my  best  to  stand  it,  but  I  can't  go  on  with  it  any 
longer." 

"  Change  it — change  it !  How  can  we  change 
it,  even  if  it  was  right  to?  " 

"Right!  Right!  Right!"  she  repeated  fiercely. 
"  Who  made  you  the  judge  of  what  is  right  for 
me?  You're  my  husband,  but  that  doesn't  make 
you  my  judge.  You  live  your  own  life,  and  I 
must  live  mine;  and  this  life  you  try  to  make 
me  lead  is  not  mine.  Stop! — listen  to  me  first. 
You're  so  blinded  with  self-satisfaction,  so  obsti- 
nately sure  that  you're  right,  that  you've  forgotten 
all  about  me.  I've  become  just  a  mere  item 
in  your  existence,  a  part  of  yourself.  You've 
forgotten  that  I've  a  self,  or  you  couldn't  really 
believe  that  this  life  would  satisfy  me.  I'm 
young.  Am  I  to  have  no  fun  in  life?  No  amuse- 
ments, no  gayety,  no  pleasure,  no  friends?  Am 
I  to  go  on  living  here,  seeing  nobody  worth  see- 
ing, going  nowhere,  just  drudging  along  in  this 
dismal  hole  ?  " 

She  stopped,  panting,  and  he  broke  in 

"  I  can't  listen  to  you,  Marian.  Do  you  under- 
stand what  you're  saying?  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  interrupted,  "I  understand; 
it's  you  who  can't.  Can't?  Won't — won't!  I 


42  THE    PEST 

sometimes  wonder  if  you're   a  man   or  a  mere 
machine?  " 

"If  you  knew  how  much  you  are  hurting  me, 
Marian,  you'd  know  how  much  of  a  man  I  am. 
Don't  you  think  I've  seen  how  discontented  you 
are,  but  you  wouldn't  take  my  advice;  you 
wouldn't  try  to  do  what  I  know  would  make  you 
happy.  You're — you're  so  selfish;  you  criticise 
everything  by  whether  it  brings  happiness  to  you. 
You  have  everything  that  I  have,  and  could  share 
everything  with  me,  and  be  quite  content  and 
happy.  But  you  do  nothing;  you  keep  outside 
my  life  and  won't  let  me  help  you." 

"  I've  heard  all  this  before !  What's  the  use  of 
preaching  to  me?  Keep  your  sermons  for  those 
who  agree  with  you.  You've  talked  like  this  at 
me  till  I'm  sick  of  hearing  you." 

"  Why  not  do  as  I  ask  you — work?  " 
"  Why  should  I  work?  "  she  asked  fiercely. 
"  Is  it  really  you,  Marian?     I  thought  you  so 
different." 

"  I  was  different  when  you  married  me;  I  was 
a  baby  then,  an  ignorant  fool  of  a  girl.  I've 
grown  into  a  woman,  but  you  haven't  noticed  it." 

"  A  woman  has  more  heart " 

"  Copy-book  platitudes  won't  help  us." 
"Don't   you    love  me?"    he   asked,    straining 
eagerly  toward  her  for  the  reply. 


THE    PEST  43 

"  No.     I  never  did." 

"  You  never  loved  me  ?  "  he  stammered,  stand- 
ing up  and  leaning  heavily  on  the  back  of 
the  chair.  "  You  said  you  did — why  did  you 
marry  me?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  thought  I  loved  you — because 
I  was  lonely,  poor;  because  I  didn't  understand 
what  love  was;  because  I  didn't  love  anyone  else; 
because  I  didn't  know  any  other  man.  If  we'd 
gone  on  living  down  there  in  the  country,  I  dare- 
say I  should  have  gone  on  vegetating.  But  you 
dragged  me  up  here,  and  I've  woken  up.  You 
said  I  was  selfish.  What  about  you?  You  knew 
what  you  were  bringing  me  to  and  never  stopped 
to  think  whether  it  would  be  good  for  me,  this 
dull,  stupid  life,  with  nothing  to  care  for,  nothing 
to  hope  for,  nothing  to  do." 

"You  never  really  loved  me?  Oh,  my  God, 
why  am  I  punished  like  this?" 

He  dropped  his  arms  helplessly,  standing  be- 
fore her,  looking  at  her  bewildered,  as  though 
struggling  to  shake  himself  free  from  some  op- 
pressive dream. 

"  Selfish  again,"  she  said.  "  Your  punish- 
ment! What  about  mine?  You've  often 
preached  that  there  is  no  real  happiness  in  life 
but  to  do  your  duty.  Haven't  you  done 
yours  ?  " 


44  THE    PEST 

11 1  can't  have.  .  .  .  What  can  I  do?" 

"  Free  me  from  this  existence.  Go  away  from 
here;  somewhere  there  is  life " 

"  You  know  I  can't  leave  my  work." 

"  Others  can  do  it." 

"  If  we  all  said  that?  You  know  I  can't  leave 
my  appointed  work." 

Marian  sat  down  and  beat  with  her  clenched 
fists  upon  the  table. 

"  Can't  you  see  anyone's  life  but  your  own?" 
she  exclaimed  fiercely.  "  You  make  me  loathe 
you  when  you  talk  that  way.  Can't  you  be  a 
bit  practical?  Don't  you  understand  that  things 
can't  go  on  like  this?  That  you're  killing  me? 
You've  no  pluck;  I  believe  you'd  be  quite  content 
to  live  all  your  life  in  these  dingy  lodgings.  You 
say  you  love  me " 

"  I  do— I  do " 

"  And  won't  do  a  thing  to  make  me  happy ! 
We  can't  go  on  living  together  like  this.  Can 
we?  Don't  you  see  we  can't?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  That  something  must  be  done  to  change  it." 

"  Wait,  wait,  let  me  think !  "  he  said,  tramp- 
ing about  the  room;  "let  me  think,  let  me  think. 
No,  Marian,  I  can't  go  away;  I  must  stop  here 
and  go  on  with  my  work.  You  see,  dear,  you've 
never  really  tried  my  way;  if  you  worked  hard 


THE    PEST  45 

all  day  like  I  do  you'd  have  no  time  to  be 
unhappy." 

"  Why  should  I  work?  " 

"Why  shouldn't  you?  That's  what  we  all 
have  to  do.  And  there's  so  much  work.  You 
don't  know,  I  didn't  like  to  tell  you,  how  it  handi- 
caps me,  people  knowing  that  you  do  nothing 
to  help  me.  How  can  I  urge  them  on  when 
my  wife  does  nothing?  Then — what  is  it  you 
want?" 

"If  I  told  you,  oh!  I  know  what  you'd  say. 
The  same  old  sermons — the  things  I  do  want 
wouldn't  make  me  happy,  the  things  I  don't 
would.  You've  made  up  your  mind  what  I 
ought  to  do  and  you  are  so  certain  you're 
right." 

"  It's  not  what  /  think " 

"Yes,  yes,  it  is  what  you  think;  what  others 
believe  is  right  when  you  agree  with  them.  I 
don't  agree  with  you.  Your  beliefs  don't  make 
me  happy." 

He  sat  down  opposite  her  and  began  idly 
tracing  with  his  finger  the  pattern  on  the  shabby 
green  cloth.  She  waited,  wondering  what  he 
would  say.  So  far  there  had  been  little  more 
than  a  repetition  of  previous  scenes  between  them. 
At  last,  after  what  seemed  to  her  an  interminable 
silence,  he  said — 


46  THE    PEST 

"  Don't  you  see  how  you  are  breaking  my 
heart?  I  believed  you  loved  me.  You  deceived 
me.  Then — do  you  think  my  work  is  easy  to  me  ? 
Don't  you  know  I  would  like  to  give  you  every- 
thing you  want?  But  I  can't  leave  my  work,  and 
you — you  do  nothing  to  help  me." 

"  How  can  I  when  I  think  you're  all  wrong?" 

"  Wrong  in  what  way?  " 

"  In  everything.  You  preach  about  a  merciful, 
just  God !  Is  there  any  mercy  or  justice  in 
allowing  people  to  be  born  to  live  the  life 
you  are  working  to  save  them  from?  Non- 
sense !  " 

"  Do  you  know  what  you're  saying?" 

"  Quite  well." 

"  It's  blasphemy  " — he  stood  up,  looking  down 
on  her  with  the  light  of  fanaticism  in  his  eyes — 
"  blasphemy !  Pray  to  God  you  may  be  forgiven 
for  it.  Do  you  ever  pray — truly?  " 

"  What's  the  use  ?  I've  prayed  for  what  I 
want  and  can't  go  on  believing  when  I  don't  get 
it.  Of  course  you'll  tell  me  I  pray  for  what 
wouldn't  be  good  for  me !  Praying  doesn't  alter 
things,  so  what's  the  use  of  it?  " 

"  It's  because  you  don't  believe." 

"  Yes,  that's  religion  all  over ! — Argue  in  a  way 
that  would  be  simply  idiotic  if  you  applied  it  to 
real  life." 


THE   PEST  47 

"Marian!  Marian!"  he  said,  leaning  across 
the  table  toward  her,  "  God  help  you !  " 

"  Soon,  I  hope,"  she  answered,  turning  away 
with  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

He  sprang  up,  but  bit  his  lip,  stopping  the 
rush  of  words  that  came  to  his  tongue.  She 
looked  up  at  him,  laughing  bitterly. 

"  Will  you  ever  realize  that  our  marriage  was 
a  mistake?  We  weren't  made  for  one  another, 
that's  all  about  it.  And  we're  so  poor  we  can't 
afford  to  separate." 

"Separate!" 

"What's  the  use  of  stopping  together?  I  tell 
you  I  can't  go  on  with  this  life;  you  must  change 
it;  you  must." 

"  I  can't.    Marian,  won't  you  try  once  more?  " 

"  No,  I  won't.  I've  one  life  to  live  and  I 
won't  be  driven  into  wasting  it.  I'm  young,  full 
of  life;  you've  often  told  me  I'm  beautiful,  and 
you  want  me  to  go  on  living  here  and  sharing 
your  miserable  work.  I  won't.  You  must  make 
a  change." 

"  I  can't,"  he  repeated  doggedly.  "  You  know 
I  can't.  Not  even  you  can  tempt  me  to  do  that. 
I've  listened  to  what  you  said,  horrible  as  much 
of  it  was.  I've  felt  hopeless  about  you  for  some 
time;  you  were  so  out  of  touch  with  me,  you  were 
becoming  a  stranger  to  me.  I've  asked  you  to 


48  THE    PEST 

try  my  way  once  more.  I've  often  asked  things 
of  you.  I  begin  to  think  I've  been  weak.  I've 
tried  to  make  you  my  true  comrade  and  I've 
failed.  Now,  I  must — must — make  a  change." 
There  was  a  tone  in  his  voice  that  compelled  her 
to  stand  up  face  to  face  with  him.  "  I  must 
make  a  change.  Instead  of  our  ruling  our  house 
together " 

"  House !    Lodgings !  " 

"  /  will  be  its  master.  I  blame  myself  for  not 
having  been  so  sooner.  Your  life  and  salvation 
were  intrusted  to  me  and  I  should  not  have  let 
my  love  for  you  interfere  and  tempt  me  to  make 
life  easy  for  you.  Life  is  not  easy  and  you  must 
face  it.  Remember,  I'm  God's  minister." 

"  So  you  say.  You  never  give  me  a  chance  of 
forgetting  it,  with  your  continual  preaching.  So, 
now  you  can't  bend  me,  you'll  break  me?  " 

"  I  must  try  to  teach  you  that  God  must  be 
obeyed." 

"  How  do  you  know  His  commands  ?  But  it's 
no  good  talking  this  way  any  more.  I  shall  leave 
you  to-morrow  " — her  voice  trembled,  half  with 
fear,  half  with  defiant  anger  as  she  repeated — "  I 
shall  leave  you  to-morrow." 

"Leave  me?" 

"  Leave  you." 

"  Where  are  you  going?  " 


THE    PEST  49 

"  What  does  that  matter  to  you  ?  You  think 
divorce  sinful,  so  my  future  address  doesn't  con- 
cern you." 

She  walked  quickly  out  of  the  room,  leaving 
him  dazed. 

For  some  moments  he  seemed  scarcely  con- 
scious, scarcely  able  to  breathe.  Then,  slowly, 
heavily,  he  kneeled  down  at  the  table,  and,  bury- 
ing his  face  in  his  hands,  prayed  for  forgiveness, 
the  while  he  shook  with  sobbing  and  his  heart 
ached. 


CHAPTER   V 

MARIAN  locked  herself  into  the  bedroom  and 
sat  down  before  the  glass,  laughing  at  her  flushed, 
angry  face.  She  was  too  astute  to  try  to  cajole 
herself  into  believing  that  Edward  had  really 
done  or  said  anything  to  justify  her  leaving  him. 
But  in  her  present  mood  it  pleased  her  to  behave 
like  a  spoiled  child.  When  Edward  knocked  at 
the  door,  asking  for  admission,  she  did  not  an- 
swer. She  laughed  again  as  she  listened  to  his 
heavy,  weary  footfall  going  down  the  stairs.  He 
would  have  to  work  out  the  accounts  for  himself; 
she  had  done  with  them. 

She  pulled  out  from  beneath  the  bed  her  old- 
fashioned  leather  trunk  and  began  to  pack  such 
clothes  as  she  meant  to  take  with  her. 

He  sat  down  wearily  to  the  books,  checking 
them  mechanically,  while  his  mind  was  almost 
numb.  He  had  never  hesitated  in  his  faith;  it 
was  not  in  him  to  do  so;  but  never  before  had  he 
felt  so  helpless.  Prayer  had  brought  softness  to 
his  anger,  but  as  yet  there  was  no  light  on  the 
dark  path  ahead. 

Before  he  left  the  house  he  went  upstairs  again, 


THE    PEST  51 

but,  as  before,  obtained  no  answer  to  his  knock- 
ing. From  sheer  habit  he  wrapped  himself  up 
closely,  and,  taking  the  books,  went  out. 

Marian  heard  the  door  shut  behind  him,  and 
knew  that  it  closed  on  her  married  life. 

This  same  day  Maddison  worked  until  the 
light  failed,  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  then 
stood  before  the  fire  in  the  darkening  studio, 
undetermined. 

Marian's  intrusion  into  his  life  had  rendered 
him  dissatisfied,  made  him  at  one  moment  fever- 
ishly anxious  for  activity,  at  another  full  of  long- 
ing for  solitude  and  silence.  As  it  chanced,  the 
first  was  his  present  mood,  but  he  had  no  en- 
gagement and  did  not  know  where  to  go  or  what 
to  do. 

It  was  only  four  o'clock.  He  could  pay  a  visit 
to  one  or  other  of  the  many  friends  who  would 
meet  him  with  quick  welcome,  but  this  prosaic 
prospect  did  not  allure  him,  nor  did  an  afternoon 
of  gossip  or  argument  at  the  club. 

It  occurred  to  him  to  go  and  see  Marian,  but 
he  resisted  the  insistent  temptation.  She  had 
thrown  him  over  without  a  word,  either  not  want- 
ing to  see  him,  or  wishing  him  to  woo  her;  both 
pride  and  wisdom  told  him  that  he  had  best 
leave  the  next  move  to  her.  But  if  she  made  no 


52  THE    PEST 

move?  Were  there  not  other  women  equally 
desirable!  Another  Marian? 

The  ringing  of  the  telephone  bell  broke  in  on 
his  thoughts.  The  call  was  from  Mortimer. 

"  Hullo !    Is  that  you,  George  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I'm  laid  up  with  a  sprained  ankle.  Can  you 
come  round  for  a  chat?  I've  no  woman  for  you 
— only  tea." 

"  All  right." 

"At  once?" 

"  Yes." 

A  hansom  bore  him  down  quickly  to  the 
Adelphi,  where  Mortimer  lived  in  a  snug  set 
of  chambers  overlooking  the  river.  Maddison 
found  him  stretched  out  on  the  sofa  before  the 
fire,  reading  a  prettily-bound,  daintily-illustrated, 
wittily-written  volume  of  French  essays  on 
cookery. 

"  Good  man  1  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Come  round 
to  the  fire.  I've  had  a  most  lucky  accident  which 
will  prevent  me  being  able  to  go  to  the  office  this 
abominable  weather  and  will  get  me  out  of  sev- 
eral engagements  I  don't  want  to  keep." 

"  You  know  you  love  going  out!  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  And  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  don't 
go  out  much.  I  used  to,  but  I'm  growing  up. 
For  one  thing,  people  are  so  stupidly  flippant;  at 


THE    PEST  53 

best  flippancy  doesn't  sit  well  on  English  shoul- 
ders. You  see  I'm  lucky:  I'm  an  Englishman 
with  foreign  parents  and  a  Jew  for  a  grandfather. 
Do  you  mind  ringing  the  bell?" 

The  servant  brought  in  the  tea  table,  which  he 
set  down  beside  the  sofa;  a  bright,  copper  kettle 
was  put  on  one  trivet  and  a  dish  of  hot  cakes  on 
the  other. 

"  You  old  maid !  "  said  Maddison,  laughing,  as 
he  watched  the  trim  preparations. 

"  That's  a  compliment.  An  old  maid  is  usually 
delightful.  She  has  the  ripeness  of  years  with- 
out the  rottenness  of  experience.  And  she's  free 
to  do  what  she  likes." 

"  Because  she  hasn't  been  able  to  do  what  every 
woman  likes  best;  so  she  has  to  put  up  with  the 
details  of  life." 

"Are  there  any  details  in  life?"  Mortimer 
asked. 

"  Yes ;  most  important  things  are  details." 

"  I  suppose  you  would  call  tea-making  a  detail? 
Three  and  a  half  minutes  exactly.  I  hope  you 
always  drink  China  tea,  George  1  " 

"  I  never  thought  about  it." 

"  An  unhappy  old  age  is  before  the  man  who 
does  not  consider  the  tea  he  drinks?  No  doubt 
you  are  Vandal  enough  to  take  sugar?  Art  and 
sensibility  of  palate  seldom  go  together.  By  the 


54  THE    PEST 

way,  West's  back  from  his  honeymoon.  I  had  a 
line  from  him  this  morning.  What  a  beggar  he 
is  for  writing!  He  gets  through  more  work  in 
a  day  than  the  average  man  does  in  a  week,  and 
still  has  time  to  be  married  and  write  letters.  He 
wants  me  to  go  down  for  a  week-end." 

"What's  she  like?" 

"  You  saw  her  at  the  wedding." 

"  Saw  her.  I  know  what  she  looks  like — an 
empty-headed  plaything.  But  you  know  her  well, 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  No  man  ever  knows  a  woman." 

"  Don't  be  platitudinous." 

"  I  can't  always  be  lying.  She — I  really  don't 
know.  I  used  to  think  her  a  devilish  little  flirt; 
in  fact  she  was;  but  women  do  change  so  after 
they're  married.  Besides,  I  may  have  been  quite 
wrong,  quite.  Everyone  else  thought  her  just  a 
simple  little  maiden — who  knows?  " 

"  And  after  all,  it  doesn't  really  much  matter. 
But  it  will  take  a  clever  woman  to  manage  West. 
If  she  is  just  a  doll  he'll  soon  grow  tired  of  her — 
as  he  has  of  other  dolls,  whom  he  didn't  need 
to  marry." 

"  That's  so.  We  shall  see.  I  like  West.  He's 
such  a  delightful  contrast  to  myself.  How  have 
you  been  jogging  along?  Anything  new?  Is  the 
picture  getting  itself  upon  canvas  ?  " 


THE   PEST  55 

"  Not  begun !  "  answered  Maddison,  putting 
down  his  cup  and  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"  Refractory  model,  or  what?" 

"  Just  can't  get  a  start,  that's  all.  I  can  see 
it  in  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio,  but — "  he  broke  off 
abruptly. 

They  chatted  on  about  matters  indifferent,  but 
Maddison,  feeling  out  of  tune  with  his  com- 
panion, went  away  with  an  unwonted  conscious- 
ness that  he  was  out  of  tune  with  his  life. 

He  lingered  for  a  few  minutes  on  the  Terrace, 
looking  at  the  picture  spread  before  him:  the 
blackness  of  the  gardens  below;  the  lamps  on  the 
Embankment  and  of  the  passing  cabs  and  car- 
riages; the  dim  mystery  of  the  river;  the  black 
line  of  the  railway  bridge  with  its  green  and  red 
lights;  over  all,  the  gloom  and  glamour  of 
London. 

Then  he  walked  up  Adam  Street  and  so  on 
along  the  noisy  Strand  to  Charing  Cross.  As  he 
walked,  unconsciously  directing  his  steps  home- 
ward, there  came  over  him  that  intense  feeling  of 
loneliness  that  must  fall  at  times  upon  any  man 
who  lives  alone  in  London.  He  longed  for  some 
one,  some  woman,  to  whom  he  could  go,  with 
whom  he  could  stay,  in  whom  he  could  confide, 
from  whom  he  could  obtain  the  satisfying  sym- 
pathy which  only  a  woman  can  give  to  a  man. 


56  THE    PEST 

There  never  had  been  one  who  had  in  any  reality 
shared  his  life;  he  had  never  before  suffered 
from  the  lack  of  such  a  one.  But  now  he  was 
hungry  for  intimate,  human  companionship  and 
there  was  no  one  from  whom  he  could  obtain 
it.  His  thoughts  turned  to  Marian.  He  realized 
that  he  did  not  know  anything  of  her  nature;  she 
attracted  him  physically;  she  interested  him.  It 
did  not  appear  unreasonable  that  a  woman  of  her 
temperament  should  rebel  against  the  circum- 
stances of  her  dull,  insipid  life,  but  he  won- 
dered if  it  were  solely  against  that  existence  that 
she  was  revolting,  or  was  she  one  of  those  women 
who  rebel  against  all  restraint?  Was  she 
simply  a  man-hunter?  A  woman  who  lusted  for 
pleasure,  excitement,  change  for  change's  sake? 
How  greatly  she  had  altered  from  the  simple 
country  girl  she  had  been  when  he  knew  her 
first. 

Or  had  she  qualities  in  her  which  would  enable 
her  to  become  devoted  to  one  man,  to  be  happy 
with  him?  To  be  his  comrade  and  ally?  He 
must  not  permit  sensual  impulses  to  overthrow 
his  reason.  He  must  not  allow  Marian  to  become 
part  of  his  life,  only  to  find  that  he  was  not  part 
of  hers. 

It  is  a  long  walk  from  the  Strand  to  St.  John's 
Wood,  and  it  was  considerably  after  seven  when 


THE    PEST  57 

he  slipped  his  latchkey  into  the  door  and  went 
into  the  dark  studio,  turning  up  the  light  as  he 
entered.  Still  the  sense  of  loneliness  held  him; 
the  room,  despite  all  its  luxuriousness,  appeared 
comfortless. 

He  sat  down  and  stirred  the  fire  into  a  flame; 
sat  there,  smoking  and  thinking. 

Strength  had  gone  out  of  him.  During  the 
last  few  days  his  work  had  failed  to  satisfy  him: 
it  had  been  labored  and  dull.  He  had  never 
before  suffered  in  this  way.  Painting  had  hitherto 
been  the  supreme  thing  in  his  life,  but  now  a 
woman's  face  was  always  flitting  between  him  and 
the  canvas.  If  she  were  with  him,  would  it  still 
be  so  ?  Or  would  she  strengthen  and  inspire  him  ? 
It  was  the  uncertainty  that  disturbed  him ;  to  have 
and  to  hold  her,  then  to  find  that  she  injured  and 
did  not  aid  him — that  would  hurt,  but  the  wound 
would  quickly  heal,  he  felt  sure.  It  would  be 
wiser,  then,  to  act  promptly,  to  put  an  end  to  this 
state  of  doubt. 

Supposing  she  rejected  him?  Probably  she 
had  not  come  to  him  because  she  did  not  care 
whether  she  met  him  again  or  did  not.  Or — it 
might  be — she  wished  so  dearly  to  see  him  that 
she  could  not  bring  herself  to  come  to  him. 

He  drove  down  to  Acacia  Grove. 

As  he  strode  up  the  crunching  gravel  path  he 


58  THE    PEST 

saw  that  the  parlor  was  in  darkness,  or  else  the 
curtains  were  very  closely  drawn. 

If  her  husband  were  with  her  his  visit  would 
be  in  vain,  save  that  it  would  show  her  that  he 
was  anxious  to  see  her.  His  hand  trembled  as  he 
knocked,  and  he  waited  anxiously  for  the  maid's 
approach. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Squire  at  home?" 

"  No,  sir.  She's  just  gone  away,  sir,  in  a  keb, 
with  her  boxes.  She  was  a-goin'  on  a  wisit,  she 
said." 

"Whereto?" 

"  I  dunno." 

He  hurried  away,  shocked,  angry.  What  silly 
trick  was  fate  playing  on  him?  He  must  write, 
cautiously,  perhaps  to  find  that  she  was  gone  out 
of  his  reach. 

What  an  unutterably  dreary  part  of  the  town 
was  this  in  which  he  found  himself  pursuing  the 
more  or  less  romantic!  Dingy  vice  and  dreary 
respectability  inextricably  mingled,  punctuated  by 
blazing  public  houses.  He  hurried  through  the 
continuous  stream  of  wayfarers,  wondering  if  any 
of  them  knew  the  meaning  of  love.  It  startled 
him  to  find  how  intense  had  grown  his  longing  for 
Marian,  whom  he  thought  at  first  he  held  in  his 
hand,  but  who  now  eluded  him  so  persistently. 

A   man   passed   him,   walking   rapidly   in   the 


THE    PEST  59 

opposite  direction.  Despite  the  dim  light,  he 
recognized  Edward  Squire.  Then  the  thought 
came  to  him  that  perhaps  Marian  had  come  face 
to  face  with  the  great  act  of  rebellion  and  had 
found  her  courage  fail,  had  fled  for  safety.  He 
did  not  believe  that  she  would  find  safety;  once 
her  thirst  for  the  fullness  of  life  had  been  excited 
she  would  quench  it.  If  he  did  not  win  her  some 
other  man  would.  He  wanted  her  and  would  not 
leave  anything  undone  to  possess  her. 

Again  and  again  the  echo  of  her  voice  rang  in 
his  ears  as  he  hurried  along;  again  her  face  ap- 
pealed to  him.  How  glorious  it  would  be  to 
loosen  her  red-gold  hair  around  her  shoulders,  to 
hold  her  close  to  him,  looking  deep  into  her  eyes, 
his  lips  on  hers;  she  and  he  alone. 


CHAPTER    VI 

BOTH  in  situation  and  in  itself,  Stone's  Hotel  is 
respectable  and  dull.  Desperately  so,  Marian 
found  it,  as  she  stood  looking  out  of  the  drawing- 
room  window  on  the  sunlit,  colorless  street.  She 
was  alone. 

It  was  an  Early  Victorian  room;  heavy,  dingy 
red  curtains  hung  down  starkly  before  the  window 
from  a  heavy,  gilded  cornice.  The  carpet  also 
was  dingy  red,  with  faded  roses  of  huge  propor- 
tions displayed  thereon;  the  walls  were  covered 
with  dirty  gold-and-white  paper,  chastened  by 
oleographs  in  clumsy  gold  frames;  over  the  man- 
telpiece there  was  a  fly-blown,  gilt-framed  mir- 
ror; the  furniture  was  upholstered  in  well-worn 
red  velvet,  and  over  the  backs  of  the  chairs 
and  sofa  were  draped  dirty  white  crochet  anti- 
macassars; in  the  center  stood  a  huge  round 
table  covered  with  a  green  and  black  cloth  and 
adorned  with  a  careful  selection  of  assorted  hotel 
guides  and  photograph  albums,  among  which 
a  stray  Tauchnitz  volume  looked  sadly  out  of 
place;  over  the  whole  lay  the  blight  of  dust  and 

dreariness. 

ft 


THE    PEST  61 

Marian  had  dressed  carefully  in  black,  the 
single  touch  of  color  being  a  gold  brooch  at  her 
neck. 

She  turned,  with  a  gesture  of  impatience,  away 
from  the  empty  street  to  the  empty  room,  and 
sat  down  by  the  fire,  the  one  spot  of  warmth  and 
brightness. 

Her  brows  knit  as  she  thought  over  the  situa- 
tion in  which  she  had  placed  herself.  She  was 
ready  to  cross  the  Rubicon;  had  gone  so  far  that 
return  was  unthinkable.  It  now  depended  upon 
Maddison  whether  her  first  fight  would  be  a 
victory  or  a  disastrous  defeat.  But  she  felt 
stronger  now  that  she  was  free,  and  determinedly 
put  aside  all  thought  of  what  would  face  her  if 
she  failed  to  win. 

The  sharp  pulling  up  of  a  hansom  and  the 
ringing  of  the  house-bell  made  her  listen  eagerly. 
The  subdued  maidservant  threw  open  the  door 
and  Maddison  came  in. 

"  It  is  so  good  of  you  to  come  1  "  Marian  said, 
rising  and  holding  out  her  hand.  "  I  hope  you 
didn't  mind  my  writing  to  you,  but  I've — no  one 
else." 

The  weariness  and  despondency  in  her  voice 
and  attitude  hurt  him. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  mind — why  on  earth  should 
I?  Is — what's  happened?  " 


62  THE   PEST 

She  sat  down  again,  her  back  to  the  light, 
and  he  took  the  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  hearth.  He  could  not  see  her  face  very  dis- 
tinctly in  the  dull  room,  but  this  very  dimness 
gave  an  added  charm  to  her  beauty.  She  did  not 
answer  his  question  immediately,  though  her  lips 
parted  as  if  she  were  anxious  but  unable  to 
speak. 

"  Now  you're  here,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I'm 
frightened.  I'd  no  right  to  ask  you  to  come,  but 
— I'd  no  one  else,  and  I'm " 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  rolling  slowly  down 
her  cheeks.  Then  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  watching  him  very  keenly  between  her 
fingers. 

He  rose  quickly  and  came  over  to  her,  resting 
his  hand  upon  the  back  of  her  chair  and  only  by 
an  effort  restraining  himself  from  catching  her 
in  his  arms. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,"  he  said,  "  so  sorry,  and  so 
glad  you  did  send  for  me.  Don't — don't  cry." 

"  I'm  so  helpless !  "  she  sobbed. 

She  dropped  her  hands  on  her  lap  disconso- 
lately; he  took  them  in  his,  as  he  stooped  over 
her. 

"  Come,  come,  you're  not  helpless,"  he  said, 
"  because  you're  not  alone.  Tell  me,  what  has 
happened?  " 


THE    PEST  63 

She  drew  her  hands  slowly  from  his,  as  she 
answered — 

'  You  must  forgive  me — crying;  I'm  not  often 
so  silly,  but  I  couldn't  help  it.  If  you  hadn't 
come,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done. 
Please  sit  down  again  and  I'll  tell  you." 

She  paused  as  though  she  were  trying  how  best 
to  begin  her  story. 

"  I've  left  home.  Left  it  altogether.  I  couldn't 
stay  there  any  longer.  I  tried  hard  to  get  used 
to  things,  but  they  got  worse  and  worse.  Then 
yesterday  afternoon  Edward  was  wild  with  me 
because  I  couldn't — couldn't  help  him  in  his  work. 
I  broke  out  and — there  was  a  regular  scene  between 
us.  We  quarreled — and — I  came  away  here — 
what  am  I  to  do?  " 

"  Why  here?" 

"  It's  the  only  place  I  know.  My  father  brought 
me  here  years  ago;  it  wasn't  like  this  then,  or 
didn't  seem  so." 

"  Have  you  no  plans  at  all?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  none.  I  must  earn  a  living  somehow. 
I've  no  money,  and  no  friends,  except  you, 
and  I've  no  right  to  bother  you.  I  suppose 
you  think  I'm  mad  to  run  away  like  this — but 
the  life  there — it  wasn't  life — it  was  killing 
me." 

"  I  don't  set  up  to  judge  people;  don't  talk  like 


64  THE   PEST 

that.  The  first  thing  is — you  mustn't  stop  in  this 
dingy  hole." 

"  Where  else  can  I  go?  " 

"  We  must  hunt  up  some  decent  rooms  some- 
where. This  place  would  kill  you." 

"  Decent  rooms — with  a  decent  rent  1  You  for- 
get I'm  a  working  woman.  The  first  thing  to.  do 
is  to  find  a  way  to  earn  my  living." 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment;  was  she  playing 
with  him,  or  talking  in  innocent  earnestness  ? 

"What  about  your  husband?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"  Edward?  I  left  a  letter  for  him,  telling  him 
I  had  gone  away  and  that — nothing  on  earth  would 
persuade  me  to  go  back." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that?  " 

Her  hands  clinched  as  she  answered :  "  Noth- 
ing could  ever  persuade  me  to  go  back  to  him. 
What  would  be  the  use  of  it?  To  begin  it  all  over 
again?  There  would  be  no  change;  he  couldn't 
change,  and  I  couldn't — not  as  he  would  want  me 
to.  He'll  be  miserable  at  first,  but  soon  he'll  be 
all  the  better  for  my  being  away.  He  never  loved 
me  really;  it's  only  his  work  he  loves." 

"  Won't  he  search  for  you?  " 

"  I  dare  say.  But  he'd  only  preach  again  if  he 
found  me." 

"  Did  you — did  you — care  for  him?  " 


THE   PEST  65 

"  Love  him  ?  I  thought  I  did  when  I  married 
him,  and  didn't  know  what  he  was.  I  was  a  girl 
then  and  knew  nothing.  Gradually  I  came  to 
hate  him.  I  couldn't  help  it;  you  don't  know  how 
heartlessly  cruel  a  good  man  can  be — they're  so 
utterly  selfish.  But  don't  let's  waste  time  on 
what  has  been.  When  I  shut  the  door  there  last 
night,  I  shut  it  on  the  past.  Now — what  am  I  to 
do  now  ?  Can  you  help  me  ?  Do  you  know  of  any 
work  I  could  do?  Or  how  I  could  get  it?  " 

"  Let  me  think,"  he  said,  walking  slowly  up 
and  down  the  room.  "  Why — why  did  you  not 
keep  your  promise  to  come  and  see  me  at  my 
studio?  " 

"  I— can't  tell  you." 

"  Can't  tell  me?  "  he  said,  surprised. 

"  No;  please  don't  ask  me.  I  could  make  up 
an  excuse — lie  to  you,  but — I  shouldn't  like  to  tell 
you  even  the  most  innocent  fib.  So  please  don't 
ask.  All  I  can  tell  you,"  she  said,  looking  up  at 
him  as  he  stood  beside  her,  "  is  that  I  had  a  very 
good  reason." 

Their  eyes  met  fully,  and  she  dropped  hers 
quickly  and  turned  away. 

"  I  went  down  to  see  you  last  night — just  after 
you  had  left,"  he  said.  "  I — well,  I  wanted  you 
to  help  me." 

"  To  help  you?    How  could  /  help  you?  " 


66  THE    PEST 

"  We're  a  helpless  couple,"  he  answered, 
laughing  nervously.  Then  he  drew  up  a  chair 
close  to  hers,  so  that  he  could  see  her  face. 
"  Yes,  you  can  help  me,  and  it's  just  possible  I 
can  help  you.  You  remember  when  I  came 
down  to  see  you  that  afternoon,  and  you 
told  me  something  about  your  life  and  how 
— bad  it  was  for  you.  I've  never  forgotten 
what  you  told  me.  It's  made  me  a  good  deal 
unhappy." 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  told  you,"  she 
said  doubtfully;  "  I  suppose  because  you 
were  the  only  person  I  knew  who  I  thought 
could  understand.  I  didn't  mean  to  worry 
you." 

"  I'm  very  glad  you  did  tell  me.  But  some- 
thing you  did  worried  me  very  much — your 
not  coming  to  see  me.  It  made  me  angry 
at  first  and  then  miserable,  especially  as  you 
didn't  write  to  say  why  you  hadn't  been  able  to 
come." 

"  I  tried  to  write  but  I  couldn't." 

"Couldn't?  What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked 
keenly. 

"  Just,     I     couldn't.       Don't     ask    me     any 


more." 


"  You  couldn't  come  to  see  me — you  couldn't 

write  to  me  ?    I  don't  understand." 


THE    PEST  67 

"  I — can't  explain.  But — you  were  telling  me 
about  yourself?  " 

"You  care  to  hear?" 

11  Of  course  I  do." 

"  When  I  went  down  to  see  you  last  night  it 
seemed  as  if  it  would  be  so  easy;  now,  somehow  I 
can't  say  what  I  want." 

"  Is  it  something  I  can  do  for  you?  " 

"  Yes — yes — look  here,  come  down  to  the 
studio  now.  I'll  start  that  picture,  and  while  I 
work  you  can  talk.  Then  we'll  lunch  there,  and 
talk  some  more  and  see  if  we  can't  put  things  a 
bit  straight.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

Little  as  he  had  said,  his  manner  had  conveyed 
an  assurance  to  her  that  she  would  quickly  gain 
her  object,  and  it  required  all  her  self-restraint 
to  enable  her  to  conceal  her  relief  and  triumph. 
She  did  not  reply  to  him  immediately,  looking 
into  the  fire  as  though  she  were  thinking  over  what 
he  had  said,  in  reality  waiting  until  she  felt  sure 
of  her  voice  and  eyes.  The  conversation  of  the 
last  few  minutes  had  shown  him  to  be  her  captive 
and  that  the  life  she  had  been  dreaming  of  was  now 
about  to  become  a  reality. 

She  stood  up  as  she  answered  him 

"  I'll  come ;  it  will  do  me  good.  You've  been 
awfully  kind  to  me." 

While  waiting  for  her,  he  paced  quickly  up  and 


68  THE    PEST 

down  the  room.  All  hesitation  and  all  doubt 
had  vanished;  his  pulse  beat  quickly;  he  longed 
to  be  away  with  her:  to  see  her  seated  before 
him,  the  rebel  whom  he  hoped  to  tame.  Yet 
with  this  certainty  there  mixed  a  last  remnant  of 
reason:  before  he  gave  himself  he  must  be  sure 
that  she  was  his.  He  could  not  bring  himself 
seriously  to  mistrust  her,  but  he  realized  that  he 
was  holding  out  a  rescuing  hand  to  a  lonely,  des- 
perate, possibly  cunning  woman.  She  might  clutch 
at  it  in  helplessness ;  he  longed  that  she  should  clasp 
it  in  love. 

Though  the  drive  was  long  it  seemed  only 
too  short  to  him.  She  scarcely  spoke  at  all,  but 
looked  straight  ahead,  wistfully,  as  it  seemed  to 
him,  as  though  she  were  watching  a  world  of 
men  and  women  in  which  she  only  was  sad. 
He,  too,  was  silent,  content  to  look  at  her, 
noting  every  beauty  of  her  face,  the  graceful 
carriage  of  her  head,  the  evanescent  loveliness  of 
her  hair. 

"  Here  we  are !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  led  the 
way  into  the  studio.  "  Shan't  I  just  make  a 
nuisance  of  myself!  You'll  have  to  sit  still, 
though  you  can  talk.  I  can  listen  while  I 
work." 

"  What  a  lovely  room !  "  she  said,  looking  round 
at  the  deep  archway  before  the  carved  oak  fire- 


THE    PEST  69 

place;  the  opposite  arch,  the  recess  with  the  dai's 
and  the  wide  expanse  of  latticed  windows  with 
the  clear  lights  above ;  the  parqueted  floor,  strewn 
with  rugs  and  skins;  the  carved  chairs  and  the 
luxurious  settee — the  display  of  somber,  costly, 
beautiful  things.  "  What  a  lovely  room !  I 
couldn't  work  in  a  room  like  this — but  then  I've 
never  found  a  room  in  which  I  could  work,  since 
I  left  the  country." 

She  threw  off  her  wraps  and  flung  them  with  her 
hat — recklessly — on  a  couch,  and  then  stood  warm- 
ing her  hands  at  the  fire. 

"  I  don't  think  you  were  made  for  working,"  he 
said,  standing  close  beside  her,  looking  down  upon 
her  as  she  bent  to  the  blaze,  which  shed  a  warmth 
of  crimson  over  her  face.  "  You  were  meant  to 
help  others  to  work." 

"You?" 

"  Ever  so  much,  I  fancy." 

"  Tell  me  what  I'm  to  do,  and  I'll  try." 

He  brought  over  to  the  fireside  an  old-fashioned, 
plain  wooden  chair,  with  high,  stiff  back  and 
broad,  flat  arms. 

"  There — sit  there — straight  up — I  shan't  keep 
you  like  that  for  long  at  a  stretch;  grip  the  ends 
of  the  arms  slightly — and  look  into  the  fire;  look 
like  you  did,  as  far  as  you  can,  that  afternoon 
when  I  called  you  the  rebel." 


yo  THE    PEST 

She  took  the  position  he  directed,  while 
he  sat  down  on  a  stool  at  a  little  distance 
and  began  to  sketch  rapidly  upon  a  block  on 
his  knee. 

"  I  want  to  rough  it  out,"  he  said,  as  he  tore 
off  a  sheet  of  the  paper  and  flung  it  on  the  floor, 
"  until  I've  caught  the  pose,  and  then  I'll  start  to 
get  it  on  a  canvas." 

At  first  he  worked  quickly,  the  while  she 
watched  him  with  keen  interest.  She  knew  that 
if  she  had  aroused  deep  emotion  in  him,  he 
could  not  continue  this  make-believe  of  absorp- 
tion in  his  work,  could  not  long  keep  up  this 
semblance  of  looking  upon  her  simply  as  a 
model. 

It  was  partly  hatred  of  the  surroundings  in 
which  he  had  found  her  this  morning,  partly  fear 
of  precipitancy  that  induced  him  to  act  as  he  was 
doing.  If  he  spoke  too  soon  he  might  not  only 
lose  her,  but  lose  also — he  loved  her  too  sincerely 
not  to  dread  it — the  opportunity  of  helping  her  in 
her  distress.  But  strive  strongly  as  he  could  he 
was  unable  to  concentrate  his  mind  upon  the  work. 
Every  time  he  looked  at  her  and  found  her  gaze 
frxed  upon  him  it  called  for  all  his  powers  of 
control  to  keep  him  from  throwing  discretion  aside 
at  once  and  for  all. 

"  You're  watching  me,"  he  said  with  a  touch  of 


THE    PEST  71 

impatience  that  troubled  her;  "look  at  the  fire, 
please." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  bully  your  sitters,"  she  re- 
plied, doing  as  he  bade  her.  "  I'm  so  tired  of 
being  told  to  do  things.  There  are  such  lots  of 
things  I  should  like  to  do — but  nobody  ever  told 
me  to  do  any  of  them." 

"What  things?    May  I  know?" 

"  You'll  only  laugh  at  me.  They're  the  kind 
of  things  that  a  woman  with  nothing  a  year  and 
not  much  hope  of  earning  anything  much  has  to 
do  without  and  had  better  not  even  think  about." 
She  spoke  slowly,  wondering  which  of  her  am- 
bitions it  would  be  discreet  to  name  to  him.  "  I 
should  like  a  lot  of  friends,  clever  people  who 
can  talk  and  be  jolly  and  make  me  jolly  too,  if  I 
haven't  forgotten  how  to  be;  and  pretty  rooms. 
I  should  like  to  read  and  to  see  pictures,  and  to 
go  to  the  opera — and  I  want  sympathy — and — 
and " 

As  she  broke  off  there  was  a  catch  in  her  voice 
that  routed  the  remains  of  his  discretion.  He 
threw  away  his  pencil  and  went  quickly  over  to  her, 
standing  beside  her  chair. 

"  Look  up  at  me,"  he  said  eagerly.  "  What  else 
do  you  want?  Sympathy — and — what  else?  " 

Instead  of  looking  up  at  him,  she  turned  away, 
clasping  her  hands  in  her  lap. 


72  THE   PEST 

"  Look  up  at  me,"  he  repeated*  "  Why  don't 
you?" 

"  I  can't." 

"  Can't  again !  Is  it — is  it  for  the  same  rea- 
son that  you  didn't  come  here;  didn't  write  me? 
Tell  me!" 

"  Yes." 

"  I'd  like  to  guess — but  I  daren't,  for  if  my 
guess  was  wrong,  you'd  never  forgive  me.  But 
— I'll  risk  it.  I  can't  wait  any  longer.  It's  be- 
cause you  care  more  for  me  than  you  care  for  a 
mere  friend.  If  that's  it,  it'll  be  all  right  and  you 
shall  have  all  your  wishes." 

He  noticed  the  quick  heaving  of  her  bosom 
and  believed  that  it  was  love  for  him  that  stirred 
her. 

"  It's  just  this:  I  love  you,  Marian,  and  if  you'll 
trust  me  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  make  you  happy. 
Let  me  try." 

The  revulsion  from  doubt  to  certainty  was  too 
great  for  her  strength,  and  she  burst  into  hysterical 
sobs  as  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Marian,  Marian,"  he  said,  kneeling  beside 
her,  "just  tell  me — do  you  love  me?  Tell  me,, 
do  you?  Do  you?  " 

At  the  moment  she  almost  felt  that  she  did  love 
him. 

"Tell  me— do  you?" 


THE    PEST  73 

"  You  really  love  me?  "  she  asked,  turning  her 
tear-stained  face  to  him. 

"Really  love  you?"  he  exclaimed,  seizing 
her  hands  and  covering  them  with  eager  kisses. 
"What's  the  use  of  telling  you?  Let  me  prove 
it." 


CHAPTER   VII 

EVEN  in  winter  time  the  Manor  House  at 
Chelmhurst  is  a  cheerful  abode;  the  garden  is 
no  mere  waste  of  promises  kept  and  made;  the 
two  great  yew-trees  on  the  lawn  behind  the 
house  by  their  spacious  graciousness  prevent  any 
sense  of  void,  nobly  supported  as  they  are  by 
the  splendid  laurel  hedges  and  the  evergreen 
shrubberies.  The  long,  low  house,  with  warm 
red-brick  walls,  tiled  roofs,  haphazard  gables 
and  chimney-stacks,  strikes  rich  and  cozy  to  the 
eye.  Behind  the  garden,  barely  divided  from  it 
by  light  iron  railings,  lies  a  broad  meadow,  with 
a  pond  and  a  confining  belt  of  elms.  Before  the 
house,  clearly  seen  over  the  low  wall,  stretches  the 
gorse-clad  common  with  its  graceful  clumps  of 
ash-trees. 

Thin  wraiths  of  country  mist  strayed  about  the 
common,  hanging  in  the  tall  trees  that  surround 
it  on  almost  all  sides,  and  there  was  a  bitter  winter 
sting  in  the  air,  as  Philip  West  and  Fred  Mortimer 
drove  up  from  the  station  one  afternoon  late  in 
November. 

.With  his  long,   lanky  limbs,   thick   shock   of 

74 


THE   PEST  75 

black  hair,  which  he  had  a  habit  of  tossing  from 
his  forehead,  dark  blue  eyes,  which  at  times 
appeared  to  be  the  abode  of  dreams,  but  on 
occasion  flashed  with  abundant  energy,  his  thin, 
almost  cadaverous  face,  West  contrasted  markedly 
with  his  companion.  As  ever,  he  was  smoking  a 
cigar,  which  he  fidgeted  between  his  thin  fingers 
when  it  was  not  cocked  up  at  the  corner  of  his 
mouth. 

11  I'm  sorry  Maddison  could  not  come  down;  I 
find  him  a  refreshing  contrast  to  my  restless  self," 
West  said.  "  Besides  I  should  like  him  to  meet 
Alice  Lane.  She's  the  sort  of  woman  you  don't 
meet  half  a  dozen  times  in  a  life.  I  wonder  how 
they'd  get  on  together." 

"  Are  you  matchmaking  for  others,  now  you've 
made  your  own  match?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,  Fred.  That's  the  one  line  of 
business  I  shouldn't  care  to  tackle.  It'd  do  him 
a  deuced  lot  of  good  to  get  married  to  the  right 


woman." 


"  I  fancy  he  fancies  other  men  have  generally 
married  the  right  woman — for  him.  Which  is 
convenient,  and  does  not  land  him  in  lifelong 
responsibilities.  There  are  so  many  right  men  and 
so  few  right  women." 

"  Don't  agree  with  you  a  bit.  The  average  man 
rubs  along  all  right  with  the  average  woman.  It's 


76  THE    PEST 

when  you  get  a  man  above  or  below  the  average 
that  the  trouble  begins." 

Mortimer  wondered  if  his  companion  were 
thinking  of  his  own  recent  marriage.  Strikingly 
beautiful  he  knew  Mrs.  West  to  be,  and  in  a  quaint, 
childish  way,  fascinating.  But  that  would  not  suf- 
fice West  for  long.  He  had  tired  of  similar  charms 
often  enough  already. 

The  victoria  swung  briskly  in  through  the  gate 
on  to  the  short  drive,  and  before  it  had  pulled  up 
West  leaped  out  and  sprang  up  on  to  the  veranda 
to  greet  his  wife. 

"  You  see,  Fred,"  he  said,  laughing — "  you  see 
we  haven't  forgotten  our  honeymoon  ways  yet. 
We  haven't  arrived  at  the  silly  stage  when  we're 
ashamed  of  people  knowing  we're  fond  of  one 
another.  You've  met  Fred  before,  Agatha ;  make 
the  best  you  can  of  him,  and  let  him  do  exactly 
what  he  likes,  or  he'll  never  come  again." 

A  pretty  blush  lingered  on  her  cheeks  as  she 
held  out  her  hand  to  Mortimer  in  welcome. 

"  I  try  to  keep  him  in  order,  Mr.  Mortimer, 
but  he's  just  a  great  big  baby — at  home,  at  any 
rate." 

It  was  she  who  looked  a  child;  her  figure  was 
girlish,  supple  and  delicate,  shown  to  perfection 
by  the  clinging  soft  silk  gown ;  her  face,  too,  was 
girlish,  tender  in  every  contour,  set  in  a  frame  of 


THE    PEST  77 

unruly  golden  hair,  the  hazel  eyes  alone  giving  it 
distinction.  Neither  husband  nor  wife  made  any 
attempt  to  conceal  their  admiration  of  and  affec- 
tion for  each  other,  and  Mortimer  could  but 
question  how  long  West,  man  of  the  world, 
would  rest  satisfied  with  the  constant  companion- 
ship of  such  a  woman.  Perhaps,  however,  she 
was  exactly  the  helpmeet  he  needed,  one  who 
would  catch  him  away  from  the  serious  work  of 
life. 

The  chief  characteristic  of  the  interior  of  the 
Manor  House  is  the  long,  low  hall  into  which  the 
front  door  opens  directly;  cozy,  comfortable,  half 
drawing-room,  half  billiard  room,  the  Wests  used 
it  constantly,  Mrs.  West  working  there  in  the 
morning  and  receiving  visitors  there  in  the  after- 
noon; in  the  evenings  the  house-party  assembling 
there  before  dinner  and  after. 

"Here  we  are!"  exclaimed  West  to.  a  tall, 
graceful  woman,  who  sat  reading  by  the  roaring 
fire.  "  Here's  Mortimer,  and  here's  me,  so  now 
you  have  some  one  to  entertain  or  be  entertained 
by,  instead  of  reading  all  the  time  while  Agatha 
insists  on  spooning  with  me." 

Mortimer  considered  himself  quick  at  seeing 
whether  a  new  acquaintance  would  prove  to  his 
liking,  and  immediately  decided  that  there  was 
not  much  chance  of  there  being  any  real  good- 


78  THE   PEST 

will  between  Alice  Lane  and  himself.  She  was  not 
of  a  type  that  appealed  to  him;  too  sedate,  too 
cool;  stately,  well-proportioned,  almost  robust, 
with  a  breezy,  blunt,  direct  manner  of  speech, 
gesture  and  look. 

"Why  are  you  so  late?"  Mrs.  West  asked. 
"  We  waited  lunch  ever  so  long  for  you,  and  now 
it  is  almost  tea  time." 

"  It's  partly  my  fault  because  I  was  so  busy; 
partly  the  fog's." 

"  Chiefly  his  fault,"  said  Mortimer;  "he  kept 
me  waiting  in  his  room  for  two  solid  hours. 
Gave  me  The  Times  and  a  lot  of  cigars  to  keep 
me  quiet." 

"  You  must  be  famished.  Poor  things !  I'll 
ring  for  tea  at  once.  How  can  you  be  so  naughty, 
Phil?" 

"  If  you  pull  my  hair  like  that  I  shall  kiss  you, 
and  you  know  how  that  disgusts  Alice.  I  should 
like  to  see  her  in  love  with  some  emotional  young 
man  like  me " 

"  Young !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  West,  with  a  merry 
laugh.  "  Young !  Dark,  thin  and  forty,  you 
mean!  " 

"  Like  myself,"  he  continued,  ignoring  the  in- 
terruption. "  I  wonder  whether  he  would  thaw 
her  or  she  freeze  him  ?  " 

"  Don't  mind  him,  Alice." 


THE    PEST  79 

"  I  don't.    He'll  grow  up  some  day." 

"  There,  Mrs.  West,"  he  said,  striking  an  atti- 
tude of  triumph;  "you  see,  this  sensible  young 
woman  realizes  that  I  am  young.  Profit  by  her 
example." 

Darkness  was  closing  in,  but  Mrs.  West  pro- 
tested that  it  would  be  far  more  pleasant  to  sit, 
chat  and  drink  tea  by  the  firelight  than  to  have  the 
lamp  brought  in. 

"  What  a  quaint  quartette  we  are !  "  said  West. 
"  I,  sedate  and  elderly;  Alice,  sedate  and  quite 
young;  Agatha,  the  child;  and  Fred — well,  all 
cynics  are  old." 

"  Are  you  a  cynic?  "  asked  Mrs.  West,  handing 
him  his  cup. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  cynic?  " 

"  I  always  think  cynics  are — disagreeable 
and " 

"  And  you  ask  me  if  I  am  one !  " 

"  Had  you  then,  Aggie !  "  laughed  her  husband. 

"  I  don't  care  a  bit.  Mr.  Mortimer  knows  I 
didn't  mean  anything  nasty.  I'm  always  saying 
shocking  things,  and  no  one  minds  a  bit." 

"  Any  more  than  when  a  kitten  scratches,"  said 
West. 

"  A  kitten's  scratches  hurt,  and  mine  don't. 
It's  mean  of  you  to  sit  the  other  side  of  Alice, 
so  that  I  can't  pull  your  hair.  We  have  her  here, 


8o  THE    PEST 

Mr.  Mortimer,  to  keep  us  good,  and  to  make  her 
better." 

"  Aggie  trying  to  make  epigrams !  What  next  I 
Heaven  defend  the  poor  man  whose  wife  makes 
epigrams." 

Quite  mistakenly,  Mortimer  counted  himself 
an  onlooker  at  life,  delighting  to  sound  the  char- 
acters of  his  friends  and  when  possible,  to  under- 
stand their  doings.  This  night,  as  he  lay  awake, 
his  thoughts  dwelt  upon  the  company  of  three 
with  whom  he  had  passed  the  evening.  He  had 
known  Philip  West  for  years,  and  considered  him 
a  strong,  determined,  pushing  man.  From  small 
beginnings  inherited  from  an  uncle  he  had  built, 
up  vast  Stores  known  over  London,  indeed  all 
the  world  over,  thanks  to  skillful  and  persistent 
advertising.  He  was  a  man  of  considerable  cul- 
ture and  refinement,  one  who,  so  Mortimer  be- 
lieved, would  look  for  much  in  his  wife,  for 
much  more,  at  any  rate,  than  he  would  obtain  from 
any  pretty,  overgrown  schoolgirl.  Agatha  cer- 
tainly was  beautiful  and  her  baby  ways  charm- 
ing, but  were  they  not  likely  soon  to  pall  upon 
such  a  man  as  West?  There  was  a  further  point: 
was  she  not  simply  a  fair-weather  mate?  Would 
he  not  find  her  hopelessly  wanting  in  any  time 
of  stress  and  storm?  Could  she  shake  herself 
free  from  her  love  of  dress,  luxury  and  excite- 


THE   PEST  8 1 

ment?  Mortimer  felt  sorry  for  her;  she  was  lov- 
able, but  helpless.  To  see  her  suffer  would  be 
as  bad  as  to  watch  the  pain  of  a  pretty  pet 
animal. 

The  third  of  the  trio — Alice  Lane?  Mortimer 
tried  to  set  aside  his  innate  distaste  for  her  and 
his  suspicion  that  she  despised  him  as  a  trifler, 
endeavoring  to  judge  her  justly.  He  had  watched 
her  closely,  and  had  discovered  that  she  in  turn 
was  closely  watching  West  and  his  wife.  She 
was  obviously  on  intimate  terms  with  Philip  and 
apparently  was  entirely  trusted  by  Agatha,  but 
Mortimer  had  learned  to  mistrust  the  continued 
harmony  of  such  a  trio.  A  wrong  note  was  sure 
to  be  sounded  sooner  or  later.  If  Agatha  failed 
or  palled  upon  him,  West  would  certainly  turn 
to  some  other  woman.  If  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  Alice  Lane,  would  she  take  it?  Mor- 
timer thought  not,  for  he  recognized  that  there 
was  a  great  deal  that  was  noble  in  her.  But, 
then,  she  might  hold  that  it  was  a  noble  part 
to  help,  in  defiance  of  the  world's  opinion,  the 
man  she  loved.  That  she  did  love  West  he  had 
so  far  seen  no  cause  to  believe,  but  he  fancied  that 
more  than  once  when  Agatha  and  her  husband 
had  indulged  in  open  display  of  their  affection  she 
had  shrunk  back  with  some  stronger  emotion  than 
mere  distaste. 


82  THE    PEST 

To  Mortimer  this  openly  displayed  fondness 
was  amusing  and  even  grateful;  it  pleased  him 
to  meet  a  couple  in  their  position  whose  refine- 
ment had  not  blunted  their  impulses.  He  felt 
himself  old  beside  them,  sighing  as  he  thought  that 
such  innocuous  sweets  were  insipid  to  him. 

With  that  sigh  he  closed  his  eyes  and  fell  asleep, 
leaving  the  future  to  expound  itself. 

Billiards  and  conversation  helped  the  Sunday 
hours  to  pass  rapidly,  until  at  length  Mortimer 
found  himself  late  at  night  sitting  alone  with  West. 

"  One  more  cigar  and  one  more  whisky,"  said 
the  latter,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  what  that  means.  I  grant 
you'll  probably  be  content  with  the  one  drink — 
but — several  cigars.  How  do  you  manage  it?  " 

"  Manage  what?" 

"  To  burn  the  candle  at  both  ends  without  burn- 
ing out?  " 

"  I  don't  do  it.  I've  several  candles  and  I  burn 
each  at  one  end  only.  Work  all  day  and  rest 
down  here." 

"  Rest  I  You'd  go  mad  if  you  ever  tried  to 
do  it.  You're  always  at  something,  and  as  for 
sleep,  it  doesn't  seem  to  matter  how  little  you 
have  of  it.  You  eat  and  drink  everything  you 
shouldn't " 

"  But  I  don't  worry.    That's  my  secret.    I  never 


THE   PEST  83 

let  anything  or  atiybody  worry  me.  I  sacked  one 
of  my  head  men  the  other  day  because  he  was  de- 
veloping a  habit  of  trying  to  worry  me." 

"  Never  worry !     Lucky  devil !  " 

"  I've  never  done  so.  I've  just  worked  straight 
ahead  for  what  I  wanted.  I  never  stopped  to 
consider  whether  I  was  a  saint  or  a  sinner,  a  beauty 
or  a  beast.  What's  the  good?  We  are  what  we 
are,  that's  all.  And — I'll  have  what  I  want  if 
I  can  get  it,  but  I  shan't  worry  if  I  don't  get  it — 
that's  all." 

"  Again,  lucky  man." 

"  You,  Fred,  you — your  delight  in  life  is  to 
weigh  in  delicate  scales  one  thing  against  another, 
and  then  choose  by  applying  certain  rules  which 
you  fancy  you  obey.  But  you  don't  obey  them, 
not  you.  No  man  could.  We're  all  creatures  of 
impulse.  Reason  is  only  useful  for  getting  us 
out  of  scrapes  which  are  the  result  of  our  own 
or  others'  mistakes.  Why  should  I  worry?  I've 
got  everything  I  want;  money,  power,  a  comfort- 
able house,  a  pretty  wife.  Good  Lord,  what  would 
be  the  use  of  deliberately  shoving  a  fly  into  my 
own  honey?  " 

"  Yours  is  a  fair-weather  philosophy." 

"  It's  brought  me  through  a  good  many  hours 
of  foul  weather.  You  know  something  about  busi- 
ness, though  your  father — luckily  for  you — knows 


84  THE    PEST 

more.  You  know  I've  not  built  up  my  business 
without  nearly  running  on  rocks  sometimes.  Last 
year  it  was  almost  a  toss-up  whether  I  came  a  co- 
lossal smash  or  not." 

"Last  year!" 

"  Last  year." 

"  But  last  year " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  West  broke  in, "  I  know  what  you're 
going  to  say.  Last  year  I  gave  ten  thousand 
pounds  to  a  Royal  charity  fund.  People  said  I 
did  it  to  buy  a  knighthood.  I  did  it  to  set  my  credit 
above  suspicion.  It  saved  me." 

"  I've  never  heard  you  talk  about  business 
before." 

"  Very  likely  not.  I  don't  often  talk  *  shop.1 
Does  it  bore  you?  " 

"  No,  I  like  hearing  men  talk  shop." 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  married  then,"  West  said, 
lying  back  on  the  sofa  and  watching  the  smoke 
from  his  cigar  as  it  drifted  across  to  the  fire.  "  A 
business  man  ought  to  have  a  home  that  keeps  him 
— so  to  speak — out  of  his  office." 

"  And  a  wife  to  share  his  anxieties?  " 

"  H'm — I  don't  know  that.  Perhaps  it  would 
help." 

He  knocked  the  ash  off  his  cigar,  got  up  and 
began  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  the  long  room. 

"  That's  just  the  difference  between  us,  Fred. 


THE    PEST  85 

You'd  weigh  the  woman  you  thought  of  marrying 
in  those  silly  scales  of  yours,  and  if  you  found  her 
short  weight  in  any  particular  would  fight  shy. 
I've  human  impulses  and  follow  them.  When  they 
get  me  into  a  mess  I  get  out  of  it  as  well  as  I  can. 
You  spend  so  much  of  time  in  avoiding  messes 
that  you'll  never  get  into  anything  else." 
"  I  don't  seem  to  have  many  impulses  left." 
"  Rats!  You  don't  know  anything  about  your- 
self— you  analytical  gents  never  do.  Or  else, 
which  I  suspect  is  more  true,  you  don't  want  any- 
one else  to  know  you  have  just  ordinary,  human 
impulses.  I  believe  you're  a  sentimental  old  hum- 
bug. Come  to  bed." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

MARIAN  understood  that  if  her  bargain  with 
Maddison  was  to  last,  it  must  be  made  satis- 
fying to  him  as  well  as  to  herself.  She  did  not 
think  that  because  the  first  skirmish  had  been 
won  the  remainder  of  the  campaign  would  be 
easy  and  necessarily  victorious.  She  rejoiced  in 
having  won  her  freedom  from  the  shackles  of 
matrimony,  but  did  not  overlook  the  fact  that 
her  foothold  in  her  new  world  was  precarious, 
and  that  a  single  false  step  might  bring  her  to 
trouble  far  worse  than  that  from  which  she  had 
escaped. 

Inexperience  was  her  chief  weakness.  Intui- 
tion, impulse  and  insight  she  possessed  in  high 
degree,  but  these  alone  would  not  suffice  her, 
would  not  enable  her  to  make  her  new  position 
unassailable.  It  was  certain,  once  the  first  rush 
of  pleasurable  emotion  was  over,  that  Maddison 
would  begin  to  weigh  the  consequences  of  what 
he  had  done,  that  he  would  question  whether 
stress  of  circumstances  had  not  driven  him  to  act 
foolishly  in  tying  himself  so  closely  to  her.  He 
would  study  her  keenly  to  find  out  whether  she 

86 


THE   PEST  87 

was  really  charming  or  only  appeared  so  to  him. 
The  woman  desired  is  so  often  more  desirable 
than  the  woman  won.  It  must  be  her  unremit- 
ting task  never  to  disappoint  him  in  any  way, 
and  in  this  the  chief  difficulty  would  be  to  know 
where  to  draw  the  line  between  the  utter  submis- 
sion to  his  will  which  might  lead  to  rapid  satiation 
and  the  making  it  difficult  for  him  to  gain  his 
every  point  without  feeling  that  he  was  not  being 
given  all  that  he  was  paying  for.  She  must  make 
her  hold  upon  him  so  tight  that  there  would  be 
no  chance  of  his  easily  loosening  it  before  she  her- 
self might  desire  to  be  free.  She  determined  that 
no  avoidable  rashness  or  haste  should  endanger  the 
future. 

Maddison  acted  as  she  expected.  After  the 
first  outburst  of  passion  he  was  strongly  im- 
pelled to  draw  back,  to  survey  critically  the 
situation  into  which  he  had  been  drawn  almost 
against  his  will,  and  certainly  against  his  better 
judgment,  and  to  ask  himself  repeatedly  if  there 
could  be  any  continued  content  for  him  in  this 
liaison. 

He  settled  Marian  in  a  pretty  flat  not  far  from 
his  studio,  and  the  first  test  to  which  he  put  her 
was  to  watch  carefully  her  taste  in  the  decorating 
and  furnishing  of  her  new  home. 

"  I  want  everything  to  be  just  what  you  like," 


88  THE    PEST 

she  said  to  him,  as  they  surveyed  the  bare,  un- 
papered  rooms.  "  It  is  so  lovely  to  start  with 
everything  to  do  and  not  to  have  to  put  up  with 
what  other  people  have  put  up.  Everything  must 
be  just  what  you  like,  George." 

He  laughed. 

"  What  /  like?— What  you  like." 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  both  like  the  same  things ! 
Though  it's  cheeky  of  me  to  imagine  that  my 
taste  could  be  as  good  as  yours.  I  don't  think 
I  shall  want  anything  you  will  consider  dreadful, 
but  you  must  teach  me  what  are  the  best  things. 
Only,  do  let  everything  be  pretty  and  quiet — and 
not  too  many  things.  And  don't  let's  go  to 
one  shop  and  get  everything  there;  I'd  much 
rather  do  it  bit  by  bit.  I  want  a  home — our 
home — not  a  gimcrack  shop  or  a  ready- 
made  bandbox  as  if  I  were  a  new  hat — a  real 
home." 

She  spoke  the  word  almost  sadly,  and  turning 
away  from  him,  went  across  the  room  and  looked 
out  of  the  window  at  the  canal,  the  noisy  road, 
the  vast  vistas  of  houses  and  the  dun-colored 
sky.  Her  tone  touched  him,  as  she  had  hoped 
it  would;  there  rushed  in  on  him  a  sudden  real- 
ization that  he  had  taken  into  his  keeping  a  hu- 
man soul,  a  lonely  soul  that  had  called  to  him  for 
help. 


THE    PEST  89 

"  Don't  think  I'm  ungrateful — talking  like 
this,"  she  said,  going  back  to  him  and  laying  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders;  "but — I  do  love  you 
so  much,  and  I  do  want  to  be  what  you  want  me 
to  be — so  that  you  will  go  on  loving  me.  Teach 
me.  You're  so  strong  and  I'm  so  weak.  You're 
able  to  do  so  much  for  me  and  I  can  do  so  little 
for  you.  I'll  try  hard  to  make  you  so  happy  that 
you'll — never  be  sorry." 

He  took  her  face  between  his  hands,  looking 
into  her  deep,  eager  eyes,  then  drew  her  close  to 
him,  kissing  her  again  and  again,  eagerly,  passion- 
ately. She  lay  passive  in  his  arms,  her  head  on  his 
shoulder.  Then  forced  herself  quick  apart. 

"  Don't,  don't,  George !  We  mustn't  be  too 
happy — it  can't  last." 

"  Can't  it?  Why  not?  We'll  just  see.  But 
at  any  rate  we  must  try  to  be  comfortable  as  well 
as  happy.  And  for  comfort,  more  than  bare  walls 
and  boards  are  needed." 

"  The  Nest,"  as  Marian  called  the  little  flat, 
was  quickly  put  into  habitable  order,  though  in 
accordance  with  her  wish  only  essentials  were 
bought  en  bloc  and  details  were  left  over  for 
gradual  treatment.  It  was  a  cozy  nest:  a  tiny 
drawing  room  where  the  prevailing  colors  were 
gold  and  green:  a  brown  and  red  dining  room; 
the  bedroom  a  bower  of  blue  and  white;  a  neat 


90  THE    PEST 

entrance  hall,  which  Maddison  had  fitted  up  with 
dark  wainscoting  which  he  had  bought  from  an 
old  farmhouse. 

Meanwhile  Marian  stayed  at  an  hotel,  spend- 
ing long  hours  every  day  with  Maddison,  at  his 
studio  or  shopping  with  him;  watching  the  prog- 
ress made  at  "  The  Nest  " ;  dining  with  him  every 
night  at  various  restaurants,  reveling  in  her  luxuri- 
ous freedom.  But  he.  soon  tired  of  this  vagabond- 
ish  life,  which  had  not  any  novelty  for  him,  and  she 
discreetly  made  pretense  of  sharing  his  desire  for 
quiet  and  of  rejoicing  with  him  when  the  day  came 
for  her  installation  in  her  new  domain. 

It  was  with  a  sense  almost  of  nervousness  that 
he  dressed  on  the  first  evening  that  she  was  to  be 
his  hostess.  The  night  was  dark  though  the  sky 
was  full  of  stars ;  the  air  was  keen  and  frosty.  As 
he  walked  along,  the  feeling  of  shyness  grew 
stronger;  it  was  almost  as  if  he  had  been  a  lover 
going  forth  to  woo.  How  great  a  part  of  his  life 
Marian  had  become!  It  was  not  merely  her 
beauty  that  he  loved :  there  was  so  much  of  refine- 
ment and,  as  he  believed,  such  utter  sincerity  in 
her,  that  she  had  caught  firm  hold  of  him.  He 
must  not  hurt  her  by  word  or  look  or  deed. 

The  drawing  room  was  empty  when  he  entered 
it,  and  he  glanced  impatiently  at  the  clock,  think- 
ing that  women  are  always  late.  He  stepped 


THE   PEST  91 

across  toward  her  bedroom,  but  again  the  sense  of 
shyness  took  hold  on  him;  he  stopped.  There 
seemed  to  him  now  to  be  something  gross  about 
such  familiarity.  Then  the  door  opened  and 
Marian  came  quietly  in,  radiantly  lovely  in  a  soft, 
clinging  gown  of  dull  crimson  and  flame-color, 
a  red  chrysanthemum  in  her  hair;  a  bright  flush 
on  her  cheeks,  a  look  of  glad  welcome  in  her  eyes. 

"  Isn't  it  nice,  George?  "  she  said,  taking  his 
hands  in  her  own  and  looking  up  merrily.  "  Our 
little  nest.  I've  been  exploring  it  all  day,  as  though 
I  didn't  know  everything  in  it ;  trying  all  the  chairs, 
strumming  on  the  piano,  tasting  everything  as  it 
were — and  doesn't  it  taste  sweet?  Thank  you — 
thank  you — thank  you !  " 

He  held  her  face  close  to  his;  the  scent  of  her 
hair,  the  warmth  of  her  breath  intoxicated  him  as 
he  kissed  her  and  pressed  her  close. 

"  You  do  love  me,  really  love  me,  George?  " 

He  kissed  her  again. 

"  I  do,  my  dear,  I  do.  You're  a  witch.  I  often 
thought  I  should  never  love  any  woman  really, 
though  I  very  nearly  loved  you  when  you  were  a 
little  country  girl.  Then  you  come  along  and  just 
wind  yourself  into  my  life  and  make  me  forget 
everything  except  you." 

"  Everything  except  me,"  she  repeated  dreamily, 
"  and  I  forget  everything  except  you.  I  feel  just 


92  THE    PEST 

like  Cinderella  must  have  done  when  she  met  the 
prince,  only  this  is  all  real,  real,  all  real.  Now, 
come  along;  you're  a  man,  and — dinner  is  ready. 
Come,  give  me  your  arm  and  lead  your  hostess 
in." 

The  dining  table  was  plainly  but  daintily  fur- 
nished; pretty  flowers,  simple  china,  cheap  green 
German  glass,  a  homely  dinner,  light  Rhine  wine, 
red  and  white,  good  coffee,  mellow  liqueurs.  There 
was  nothing  to  remind  him  of  the  garish  restau- 
rant life  they  had  been  leading,  no  touch  of  mere- 
triciousness  or  hint  of  sham. 

When  the  servant  left  them,  Marian  drew  her 
chair  close  to  his,  filled  his  glass  and  her  own. 

"  Have  you  no  toast  to  propose?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  but  no  wine  in  the  world  is  good  enough 
to  drink  it  in,  dear.  You — you!  " 

"  I've  a  better  toast — and  it's  the  wish,  not  the 
wine,  that  counts — We.  We !  " 

"You're  right!  We!  Though  I  should  be 
nothing  without  you.  We !  " 

They  clinked  glasses  and  drank. 

"  How  nice  and  quiet  it  is  here !  "  she  said. 
"  Just  you  and  I,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world  shut 
out.  I  wonder " 

"What?" 

"  Should  we  have  been  as  happy  if  you  had 
quite  loved  me  then?  " 


THE    PEST  93 

"  We  were  different  then." 

"  Yes,  how  different!  "  said  Marian;  "  I  at  any 
rate.  I  daresay  you  haven't  changed  much.  You 
were  grown-up  then,  but  I  was  merely  a  child. 
I  don't  know  that  I  am  very  much  more  now, 
ami?" 

She  laughed  lightly  as  she  spoke,  and  glanced 
at  him;  then  laughed  again  as  she  leaned  back  in 
her  chair  and  nibbled  a  marron  glace. 

"  A  child !  "  she  went  on.  "  Am  I  anything 
more  than  a  mere  grown-up  child?  I  don't  think 
I  can  be  much  more.  I  don't  want  to  really  grow 
up.  Just  a  Cinderella,  whom  you  found  sitting 
among  the  ashes.  I'd  never  met  a  prince  before, 
so — I  let  you  carry  me  off  in  your  fairy  hansom. 
So — they  lived  happily  ever  afterward.  I  wonder, 
did  they?" 

She  leaned  forward,  her  elbows  on  the  table  and 
her  chin  resting  on  her  folded  hands. 

"  What  a  way  to  talk  on  our  first  night  here ! 
What  nonsense !  " 

u  It's  nice  to  talk  nonsense  sometimes." 

"  Yes,  but  only  jolly  nonsense.  I'll  tell  you 
something  that  will  make  you  laugh.  Do  you 
know — I  felt  quite — nervous  coming  here  to- 
night." 

"  Quite  right.  Any  man  going  to  dine  with  a 
lovely  lady  should  feel  nervous." 


94  THE    PEST 

"  I  was  rather  glad  I  felt  that  way,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  I  don't  want " 

"  What  don't  you  want?  " 

"  It's  rather  awkward  to  say.  I'll  tell  you 
another  time.  Let's  talk  about  something  else." 

"  To-night — anything  you  like  and  only  what 
you  like,"  she  answered,  curious,  however,  to  know 
what  he  had  in  his  mind. 

"  Now  I'm  going  to  be  serious,"  she  went  on 
after  a  moment's  pause;  "  I  want  to  say  something 
straight  out.  I  know  what  people  think  of  me; 
I  know  that  I  can  only  have  a  part  of  your  life, 
that  is,  if  you're  going  to  be  happy.  I  don't  want 
you  to  give  up  anything  for  me,  or  any  of  your 
friends.  Don't  think  I'm  a  baby  and  will  cry  if 
I  can't  always  have  what  I'd  love  to  have  always. 
We  can  never  be  anything  more  to  each  other ;  we 
can't  marry — Edward  won't  let  us:  he  thinks 
divorce  wicked.  You  understand?  And  now — 
come  along  into  the  next  room ;  I'll  graciously  per- 
mit you  to  smoke.  It's  nice  and  cozy  there.  You 
sit  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa — poke  the  fire  first — 
and  I'll  snuggle  up  against  you." 

•  •  •  •  • 

He  woke  toward  dawn,  the  late  winter  dawn, 
when  gray  light  was  furtively  peeping  through  the 
curtains.  She  lay  with  her  cheek  on  the  pillow, 
her  hair  straying  over  in  gorgeous  cords.  He 


THE   PEST  95 

watched  the  gentle  rise  and  fall  of  the  lace  upon 
her  bosom,  the  beating  pulse  in  a  blue  vein.  He 
wondered  at  her  loveliness;  he  marveled  at  his 
love  for  her. 

She  stirred;  slowly  opened  her  eyes;  smiled  at 
him ;  then  slipped  her  arm  round  his  neck  and  drew 
his  head  down  upon  her  shoulder. 

For  the  moment  she  was  self-forgetful. 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE  picture  made  good  progress,  Maddison 
working  at  it  with  his  whole  heart.  As  her  nature 
blossomed  out  before  him,  her  joy  in  pleasure,  he 
realized  clearly  and  more  clearly  how  unbearable 
must  have  been  her  life  with  Squire.  His  passion 
for  her  quickly  settled  down  into  an  absorbing 
love;  his  power  and  reason  soon  returned  to  him; 
he  knew  that  he  had  bought  a  beautiful  and  expen- 
sive toy;  how  long  he  could  keep  it,  how  long  he 
would  care  to  keep  it,  he  did  not  ask.  Sufficient 
for  the  day  was  the  delight  thereof. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about?  "  he  asked  one 
morning,  as  she  sat  by  the  studio  fire  while  he 
painted. 

"  About  you." 

"What  about  me?" 

"  I  was  thinking — I  often  think — that  I  am 
keeping  you  a  great  deal  from  your  friends. 
You're  with  me  almost  every  evening,  and  except 
when  you've  a  sitter  I'm  with  you  almost  every  day. 
I  don't  want  to  be  a  tie,  a  drag  on  you." 

"  Don't  you  know  I'm  happy  that  way?  " 
96 


THE   PEST.  97 

"  Yes,  George,  I  do.  But  it  doesn't  do  to  try 
one's  happiness  too  hard. 

"  I  won't.  Trust  me.  It's  partly  accident  that 
I've  been  nowhere  lately,  partly  my  habit.  Peo- 
ple used  to  ask  me  everywhere,  but  gave  it  up  when 
they  found  I  didn't  go  anywhere.  There  are  just 
a  few  houses  always  open  to  me,  and  a  few  pals 
come  along  here  whenever  they  choose.  I  used  to 
have  jolly  little  informal  suppers  on  Sundays  last 
winter.  We  must  start  them  again.  A  few  men 
and  women " 

"  But — "  she  interrupted,  raising  her  eyebrows 
and  expressing  by  a  motion  of  her  hands  that  the 
women  would  consider  her  taboo. 

"  Oh,  not  that  sort  of  woman,  Marian.  Good 
sorts,  who  believe  that  the  world  was  made  for 
men  and  women,  not  men  and  women  for  the 
world.  We'll  send  a  line  round  to  some  of  them : 
*  Suppers  begin  again  Sunday  next.  Come  when- 
ever you  don't  want  to  go  anywhere  else.'  Every- 
thing's put  on  the  table  and  we  wait  on  ourselves. 
Fred — Fred  Mortimer — you'll  like  him — is  a 
dandy  man  with  the  chafing-dish,  and  when  he 
conies  we  indulge  in  extravagant  luxuries." 

"  You're  quite  sure  about  me?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am.  Quite  sure  and  quite  proud. 
It'll  be  awfully  jolly  having  a  hostess*  Hullo !  I 
wonder  who  this  can  be — don't  move." 


98  THE    PEST 

The  door  opened  and  the  servant  announced 
Mr.  Philip  West. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon " 

Marian  rose. 

"  Mrs.  Squire,"  said  Maddison,  "  let  me  intro- 
duce Mr.  Philip  West.  Mrs.  Squire  is  helping  me 
to  paint  a  picture." 

"Helping!"  she  exclaimed.  "I'm  the  fly  on 
the  wheel." 

West  examined  the  picture  and  Marian  critically. 

"  Have  you  a  name  for  it?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes.    'The  Rebel.'" 

"  It's  good,"  he  said  slowly,  "  very  good;  it'll  be 
the  biggest  thing  you've  done.  May  I  commis- 
sion it?  I'd  like  to  have  it  " — he  looked  straight 
at  Marian  as  he  spoke.  "  That  reminds  me  why 
I  came  here  this  morning.  If  you've  time  and  in- 
clination— I  know  what  a  particular  cuss  you  are 
— I  should  be  glad  if  you'd  paint  my  wife's  por- 
trait. I  should  think  she  might  suit  you.  You 
remember  her?  " 

"  I  am  a  particular  cuss,"  Maddison  answered, 
smiling  grimly  at  the  remembrance  of  various  com- 
missions rejected.  "  Have  you  said  anything  to 
Mrs.  West?" 

"  No." 

"  Then  don't,  till  I  know  whether  I  can  paint 
her  or  not." 


THE    PEST  99 

"  Too  late,  coward,  too  late.  She  suggested  it 
herself,  and  sent  me  here  to  bear  her — commands. 
You  and  she  may  settle  it  as  you  like.  She's  lunch- 
ing at  the  Carlton  with  me — I  wanted  you  to  come, 
if  you're  not  engaged." 

"  Engaged,  no ;  but  I'm  in  the  mood  for  work. 
Are  you  dining  in  town  ?  " 

"  We  weren't,  but  we  will,  if  you'll  join  us.  I 
know  there's  no  persuading  you  to  leave  your  work 
when  you  begin  to  talk  about  moods.  Settled — 
dinner  then?  " 

"Yes,  when?    Where?" 

;<  The  Carlton  will  do.  Eight.  Good-by.  Good- 
by,  Mrs.  Squire.  I  used  to  know  a  parson  of  that 
name  down  in  Kennington — an  enthusiast " 

11  My  husband." 

"  Really?     Lucky  man.     Good-by." 

Maddison  went  with  him  to  the  front  door, 
and  when  he  returned  found  Marian  standing  be- 
fore the  canvas. 

"  Yes!  I'm  a  rebel!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  My 
husband!  Do  you  know,  George,  I'd  clean  for- 
gotten all  about  him;  absolutely.  All  that  life 
is  just  like  a  dream,  and  I'm  awake  now.  Even 
when  you  called  me  Mrs.  Squire  it  did  not  recall 
him  to  me.  Yes,  I'm  a  rebel!  But  they  don't 
call  you  rebels,  do  they,  when  you've  revolted 
successfully?  Why  didn't  you  go  to  lunch?  " 


ioo  THE   PEST 

He  slipped  his  arm  round  her  waist  as  he  an- 
swered  

"  I  didn't  like  rushing  off  from  you,  so  I  told 
an  artistic  lie.  I  don't  want  to  go  to  the  dinner, 
but  West's  a  goodish  fellow,  and  was  wise  enough 
to  buy  my  pictures  when  no  one  else  would.  So 
I'm  a  bit  in  his  debt." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  He  is  the  West.  c  If  you  want  to  get  the  best 
— go  West,'  you  know." 

"  Oh,  West's  Stores.  He's  a  millionaire,  isn't 
he?" 

"  Awfully,  horribly,  disgustingly  rich.  But  he 
doesn't  do  as  much  harm  with  his  money  as  most 
rich  men.  He  hasn't  bought  pictures  wholesale, 
or  built  a  gimcrack  mansion  in  Park  Lane.  He 
gave  tons  of  money  once  to  a  royal  hobby  and 
then  refused  a  knighthood.  When  I  congratulated 
him,  he  laughed  and  said  it  was  good  advertising. 
I  believe  he  dabbles  in  politics;  he's  a  socialist — 
only  rich  men  can  afford  to  be — and  talks  about 
running  the  Empire  on  business  lines.  It'll  take 
a  greater  man  than  even  he  to  make  politicians 
capable  of  any  business  transaction,  except  buying 
votes  with  promissory  notes.  Chiefly  notes  blown 
on  their  own  trumpets." 

"  There  must  be  something  fascinating  about 
politics.  I  should  love  to  rule  men !  " 


THE    PEST  ioi 

"  Isn't  one  enough?  "  he  asked,  holding  her  at 
arm's  length  and  looking  into  her  eyes. 

"  One  like  you — yes." 

As  she  sat  alone  that  night,  lazily  smoking  by 
the  fireside,  the  thought  of  Philip  West  was  greatly 
in  her  mind.  His  strange,  dark  blue  eyes  had 
looked  at  her  searchingly  and  she  had  felt  that 
behind  them  was  power.  Had  she  any  chance  of 
knowing  more  of  him  ? 

She  was  tiring  already  of  the  luxurious  sameness 
of  her  life.  Maddison  was  kind,  thoughtful,  at- 
tentive, and  a  sufficiently  entertaining  comrade,  but 
she  desired  more  than  that.  To  rule  one  man  did 
not  satisfy  her. 

The  odds  seemed  against  her  meeting  West 
again,  especially  as  he  was  married.  Maddison 
would  doubtless  tell  her  what  the  wife  was  like,  and 
it  was  rather  upon  her  than  upon  West  himself 
that  the  success  of  Marian's  vague  ambition  de- 
pended. To  win  West  in  any  circumstances  would 
doubtless  be  difficult;  to  win  him  from  his  wife 
would  be  a  triumph. 

Maddison  came  in  late  and  threw  himself  full 
length  upon  the  hearth-rug,  a  favorite  position  of 
his  when  tired. 

"Had  a  stupid  evening?"  she  asked,  sitting 
down  beside  him,  and  brushing  the  straggling  hair 
from  his  forehead. 


102  THE    PEST 

"  Fearful.  I  hate  those  big  hotels  at  any  time, 
but  it  was  more  than  usually  deadly  to-night." 

"  I  thought  you  liked  Mr.  West?  " 

"  Oh,  he'd  have  been  all  right  alone ;  but  his 
wife  is  an  empty  chatterbox,  insipidly  pretty,  and 
he  adores  her  in  a  fatuous  way.  How  men  of 
sense  can — well,  I  suppose  reason  doesn't  count  in 
such  matters." 

"  So  you  are  not  going  to  paint  her?  " 

"  Not  for  worlds.  I  should  turn  out  a  choco- 
late box  cover.  I  must  have  a  soul  as  well  as  a 
body.  They  were  just  a  couple  of  honeymooners. 
Disgusting." 

"  It's  always  disgusting  to  see  other  people  in 
love." 

"  Perhaps  that  has  something  to  do  with  it. 
He's  simply  lost  his  reason  for  a  while ;  he'll  grow 
sane  again  some  day,  soon  probably,  and  then, 
likely  enough,  she'll  cry  her  eyes  out  for  a  day  or 
two,  and  then  will  be  quite  happy  for  the  rest  of 
her  unnatural  life  with  her  jewels  and  dresses. 
She's  just  a  material  little  doll." 

"  It  must  have  been  stupid — no  one  else?  " 

"  Only  another  woman,  a  tall,  sedate  person;  I 
didn't  quite  understand  her." 

"  Then  you  weren't  altogether  bored?  " 

"  She  was  too  much  of  a  puzzle.  Either  in- 
tensely dull,  or  dangerously  clever.  At  any  rate, 


THE    PEST  103 

if  I  were  Mrs.  West  I  would  not  often  have  Miss 
Lane  by  my  side.  I  rather  fancy  she's  a  woman 
a  man  might  love  absolutely.  And  when  West 
gets  sick  of  his  wife — Lord,  what  silly  gossip  I'm 
talking.  Do  be  a  dear  and  make  me  a  cup  of 
chocolate;  you  know  how,  and  then  we'll  talk 
about  something  more  interesting  than  the  Wests." 

When  she  came  back  with  the  steaming  cup, 
she  found  him  fast  asleep.  She  stood  looking 
down  on  him,  lithe,  slender,  well-formed,  the 
neatly  trimmed  beard,  the  heavy  black  hair,  the 
long,  delicate  hands.  She  wondered  if  she  would 
grow  to  hate  him.  She  believed  that  she  could 
not  long  keep  from  disliking  intensely,  or  at 
any  rate  despising,  a  weak  man.  He  had  been 
too  easy  a  conquest,  unable  to  withstand  the  sub- 
tle flattery  of  a  woman's  weakness  and  call  for 
help. 

He  stirred  uneasily  as  she  watched  him;  then 
slowly  opened  his  eyes. 

"What  a  dull  dog  I  am !  "  he  exclaimed,  spring- 
ing up.  "  Why  don't  you  tell  me  so  ?  " 

"  Because  I  don't  think  so.  You're  tired,  and 
you  mustn't  think  I  only  care  for  you  when  you  are 
doing  something  to  amuse  me." 

She  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  motioning  to  him  to 
sit  beside  her,  and  while  he  sipped  the  chocolate, 
she  went  on: 


io4  THE    PEST 

"  You're  like  all  other  men  in  one  way.  You 
fancy  women  are  silly,  restless  things,  who  either 
aren't  worth  amusing  or  must  be  amused  always. 
If  I'm  only  a  child,  just  fit  to  be  played  with,  what 
good  can  I  be  to  you?  There  are  lots  of  pretty 
toys  in  the  world.  I  thought  you  thought  better 
of  me." 

"  So  I  do,  goose.  Don't  fish  for  compliments, 
though  I  will  pay  you  one  upon  your  chocolate. 
Is  it  too  late  for  a  song?  " 

"  No,  not  for  a  quiet  one." 

"  Then  turn  out  the  lights  and  sing,  will  you  ?  " 

Her  fingers  ran  almost  aimlessly  over  the  keys 
before  she  began  to  play,  softly,  the  melody  of 
an  old  country  song — a  haunting,  melancholy  air. 
Then  she  sang  quietly,  with  a  touch  of  tears  in 
her  voice,  a  simple  ballad  of  a  country  maid 
and  her  false  lover.  When  it  was  ended  her 
hands  dropped  listlessly  and  there  came  over 
her  a  sudden  gust  of  hatred  of  this  mumming 
— this  making  believe  to  love  a  man  who  was 
a  mere  tool  in  her  hands.  But,  until  the  work 
was  complete,  the  tool  must  not  be  thrown 
aside. 

"  There  are  few  people  who  sing  like  you, 
Marian;  very  few  I  care  to  hear.  They're 
mostly  musical  boxes,  absolutely  soulless.  You 
— you  sing  a  jolly  song  and  people  feel  jolly; 


THE    PEST  105 

a  sad  one — and  make  me  sad.  How  do  you  do 
it?  What  an  inane  question!  As  if  you  knew. 
There's  nothing  in  life  worth  having  except 


emotions." 


"  What  about  painting?  " 

"  Art?  All  art  is  the  expression  of  emotions — 
that's  the  beginning  and  the  finish  of  it,  has  been 
and  ever  shall  be  till  the  world's  end.  Don't  turn 
up  the  light.  The  glow  of  the  fire  is  quite  enough 
to  chat  by." 

"  What  emotions  do  you  feel  when  you're  paint- 
ing '  The  Rebel'?" 

"  Disappointment.  I  see  your  face  at  the  tip 
of  my  brush,  but  every  touch  I  give  is  wrong — 
wrong." 

"  I  like  it— Mr.  West  liked  it." 

"  Yes,  but  neither  of  you  know  what  I  mean 
it  to  be,  or  how  far  I  am  from  expressing  my 
meaning.  It's  little  better  than  a  dolly  anecdote 
daub.  I've  a  good  mind  to  paint  Mrs.  West  after 
all;  it  would  be  fun." 

"How?" 

"  Why,  this  way.  I'd  just  paint  her  absolutely 
true  to  life,  show  her  empty  soul  peeping  out  of 
her  dolly  eyes.  And  everybody  would  say :  *  What 
a  sweet,  innocent  face !  '  Innocent !  How  many 
women  are  innocent  because  they're  impotent  even 
to  desire  to  be  wicked." 


io6  THE    PEST 

"  Then  paint  her,  and  we'll  enjoy  the  joke." 
"  But  I  can't  let  West  pay  me  for  it.    I'll  make 

it  a  belated  wedding  present." 

Marian  made  no  comment,  but  marveled  at  the 

quixotry  of  man. 


CHAPTER   X 

MADDISON  being  engaged  to  lunch  and  tea  on 
the  following  Sunday — the  first  of  those  on  which 
he  expected  his  suppers  to  commence  again — 
Marian  was  left  to  herself  the  whole  day,  spend- 
ing it  in  lounging  discontent. 

The  gilt  was  wearing  off  the  prize  she  had  won, 
and  each  day  she  grew  more  impatient  for  change. 
It  was  not  in  her  to  wish  that  she  were  otherwise 
gifted  and  that  she  could  rest  content  with  present 
conditions.  She  desired  more  than  she  possessed, 
spent  no  effort  in  endeavoring  to  drill  herself  into 
being  satisfied  with  what  she  had,  but  kicked 
against  the  pricks. 

Of  Maddison's  friends  she  had  met  only  Mor- 
timer and  West.  She  was  to  all  intents  alone  in 
London  with  Maddison. 

She  was  free  to  act,  eager  to  do  so,  but  as  yet 
she  had  found  no  outlet  for  her  energy  or  ambi- 
tion. Also,  she  was  not  a  little  lonely;  whenever, 
as  on  this  day,  Maddison  was  not  with  her,  she 
was  thrown  back  on  herself.  At  times  even,  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  only  freed  herself 

from  the  active  and  pressing  annoyances  of  the 

107 


io8  THE    PEST 

past,  and  that  in  reality  she  was  no  more  free  now 
than  then.  She  had  but  flown  from  one  cage  to 
another,  and  was  again  beating  her  wings  against 
the  bars  in  angry  endeavor  to  escape  for  a 
stronger  and  farther  flight. 

After  luncheon  she  sat  down  before  the  fire, 
trying  to  read  a  volume  of  Rossetti  that  Maddi- 
son  had  given  her.  The  rhyme  jingled  through 
her  head  but  made  no  impression,  and  conveyed 
neither  sense  nor  beauty.  Throwing  the  book 
aside  on  the  floor,  she  lighted  a  cigarette  and  lay 
back  dreamily  in  the  soft,  deep  chair.  The 
cigarette  finished,  she  closed  her  eyes  and  soon 
fell  asleep. 

She  awoke  with  a  start  and  a  shudder;  the  fire 
was  nearly  out,  the  room  was  chilly,  the  afternoon 
was  quickly  closing  in.  She  shivered,  wondering 
what  sound  it  was  that  had  aroused  her.  The 
maid  came  in,  turning  on  the  electric  light  as  she 
entered,  followed  by  a  tall,  elegantly-dressed 
woman. 

"  Mrs.  Harding,"  the  maid  announced. 

Marian  struggled  out  of  the  deep  chair  and 
looked  inquiringly  at  the  stranger. 

"  No,  you  don't  know  me,"  said  Mrs.  Hard- 
ing; "  I'll  tell  you  who  I  am  in  a  minute.  I'm 
afraid  I  woke  you  out  of  a  snooze?  So  sorry. 
It's  almost  the  only  thing  one  can  do  on  such  a 


THE   PEST  109 

beastly  afternoon — sleep  and  drink — and  both  are 
stupid  by  yourself.  So  I  thought  I'd  trot  down- 
stairs and  see  if  you  were  blue  too." 

A  vague  recollection  came  to  Marian  of  having 
passed  Mrs.  Harding  on  the  stairs  once  or  twice. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  she  said.  "I'll  ring 
and  have  the  fire  made  up,  and  it  must  be  tea 
time." 

She  was  anxious  to  learn  the  real  meaning  of 
this  intrusion.  Any  diversion  was  welcome. 

"  You're  jolly  snug  here,"  Mrs.  Harding  re- 
marked, after  a  survey  of  the  room  while  the 
maid  had  stirred  up  the  fire  and  set  the  tea  table 
ready.  "  Mine  are  rather  frowsy,  but  then  my 
old  man's  a  bit  of  a  screw.  You've  had  better 
luck  than  me.  Hope  it'll  last.  That's  the  worst 
of  the  jolly  ones,  they  get  tired  so  quickly,  and  if 
you  hold  the  reins  tight  they  simply  kick  up  and 
bolt.  /  know." 

As  it  dawned  upon  her  what  was  the  character 
— or  rather  the  want  of  it— of  her  visitor,  Marian 
examined  her  face  more  critically.  The  woman 
was  insolently  handsome;  masses  of  blue-black 
hair  set  off  to  perfection  the  almost  dead-white  of 
her  face;  the  forehead  was  low  and  broad,  the 
eyes  dark  and  deep-set  under  heavy  brows;  the 
mouth  large  and  sensuous,  showing,  when  open,  a 
perfect  row  of  teeth;  the  chin  alone  was  weak. 


no  THE    PEST 

She  was  expensively  dressed,  her  tight  -  fitting 
tailor-made  gown  showing  to  advantage  the  bold 
outline  of  the  figure. 

"  Now  the  girl's  gone  we  can  chat  cozily,"  con- 
tinued the  visitor.  "  I  never  talk  before  my 
maid,  because  I  don't  want  her  to  talk  over  me 
and  my  doings  with — say  yours.  I'd  rather  tell 
you  myself  what  I  want  you  to  know.  You're 
not  so  careful.  Your  maid  talks  to  mine,  mine  to 
me,  so  indirectly  you've  told  me  a  good  deal  about 
yourself." 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,"  Marian  said 
quietly;  "Anne  shall  leave  to-morrow." 

"  I  thought  it  only  pally  to  tell  you,  but  I 
shouldn't  sack  her — they're  all  the  same.  I  don't 
let  mine  know  more  than  I  can  help,  though  that's 
more  than  safe  if  I  annoyed  her  and  she  told  the 
old  'un  about — the  others.  You  must  have  a 
pretty  lonely  time  of  it  ?  " 

"  It's  a  rest  to  be  alone  sometimes." 

At  first  Marian  had  felt  inclined  to  be  angry 
at  this  woman  having  thrust  herself  upon  her,  but 
curiosity  succeeded.  She  had  never  spoken  to  one 
of  her  class  before — of  her  own  class,  it  flashed 
upon  her — and  to  do  so  might  prove  interesting, 
possibly  also  instructive. 

"  Rest?  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so,  but  I  hate 
resting.  That's  the  worst  of  being  kept  by  an  old 


THE   PEST  in 

josser,  he  neither  gives  you  any  fun  himself  nor 
gives  you  much  chance  of  getting  any  with  anyone 
else.  But  I  don't  do  so  badly.  The  certainty  of 
it  is  the  decent  part  of  it.  Thank  God,  he  goes 
away  sometimes,  and  then  I  just  make  up  for  lost 
time,  don't  I !  Your  George " 

"My 1" 

"  That's  his  name,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  He's  all  right,  just  enough  and  not  too  much, 
I  should  say.  You're  only  a  beginner,  and  don't 
know  yet  what  we  have  to  put  up  with  and  what 
we  become.  Oh!  We're  a  lively  lot,  some  of 
us,  regular  devils.  I  steer  clear  of  them  as  much 
as  I  can,  but  one  must  talk  to  a  woman  sometimes. 
At  least  I  must.  I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  com- 
ing in  this  way?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.     Another  cup  of  tea?  " 

"  No,  thanks,  but  if  I  could  have  a  B.  and  S. 
I'd  not  say  '  No.'  " 

Marian  rang  and  bade  the  maid  bring  the 
necessaries. 

"  I  liked  the  look  of  you,"  Mrs.  Harding  con- 
tinued, "  and  it's  pleasant  to  have  a  friendly 
neighbor;  it's  a  nuisance  to  be  always  going  out. 
It's  a  sickening  life  sometimes,  but  I  wouldn't 
change  it  for  any  other.  Not  to  be  a  duchess ! 
I  did  try  to  settle  down  once  with  a  man  who 


ii2  THE   PEST 

wanted  to  marry  me,  but  it  nearly  drove  me 
crazy.  The  love  of  it's  in  my  blood.  Yours, 
too,  from  the  look  of  you.  There's  plenty  of 
fun  too.  You  meet  good  sorts  as  well  as  bad, 
and  take  my  tip,  when  you  meet  a  good  sort, 
treat  him  well.  It's  funny  our  living  here;  I  be- 
lieve everyone  else  in  the  house  is  straight.  Judg- 
ing by  their  looks,  they  can't  have  had  much 
temptation  to  be  otherwise.  Their  wedding 
rings  ain't  make-believe  like  ours.  A  cigarette? 
Thanks:  This  is  brandy!  Jolly  good,"  she  said, 
tasting  it;  "  it'd  be  a  sin  to  put  water  in  that. 
Here's  luck!" 

She  drank  the  brandy  neat,  with  evident 
relish. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  to-night?  Care 
to  come  out  with  me  and  dine  somewhere?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't.  I  should  like  to,  but  I'm 
engaged  to  supper." 

"  Lucky  girl.  I  ain't.  My  old  man  went  off 
all  of  a  sudden  and  left  me  in  the  lurch.  If  I'd 
known  he  was  going  I'd  have  fixed  up  some  fun, 
but  he  didn't  tell  me  till  after  breakfast  this 
morning.  He's  just  cussed  sometimes,  and  never 
let's  on  when  he  will  be  away.  Well,  I  must 
trust  to  luck.  Come  some  other  night;  and  do 
come  up  to  see  me — he  don't  mind  feminine 
friends.1" 


THE   PEST,  113 

11  I'd  like  to  come." 

"  By  the  way,  my  dear,  while  I  think  of  it, 
you'll  do  well  to  look  about  you  before  he  leaves 
you  in  the  lurch.  Funny  thing,  a  year  or  two  ago 
I  used  to  see  a  good  deal  of  Georgie.  He  don't 
stick  to  anyone  long.  He  soon  got  tired  of  me 
and  I  wasn't  too  much  cut  up  about  it;  he's  too 
finicky  for  my  taste.  I  shall  never  forget  his 
face  when  he  found  me  a  bit  fuzzy-wuzzy  with 
fizzy  wine  one  night.  I  always  called  him  old 
blue  ribbon  after  that." 

She  laughed  quietly,  a  deep,  low,  melodious 
note.  Then  she  got  up  and  walked  about  the 
room,  looking  at  the  pictures  and  ornaments. 

"  I  must  say  he's  fixed  you  up  as  if  you'd 
caught  his  fancy  strong.  He  only  took  a  fur- 
nished place  for  me.  But  don't  put  all  your  trust 
in  any  man's  pocket.  Do  you  play?"  she  asked, 
sitting  down  to  the  piano.  "  Here  goes  for  a 
hymn." 

She  played  a  catchy  air  and  then  sang  the  first 
verse  and  chorus  of  a  drinking  song  that  then  held 
the  ear  of  the  town. 

"  But  there,  I'll  be  off,  my  dear.  Georgie 
might  catch  me  here  and  not  approve.  I  shan't 
come  to  see  you  again  till  you've  been  to  see  me. 
I've  a  sort  of  idea  we  shall  be  pals,  I  want  one 
badly.  I  can  put  you  up  to  a  wrinkle  or  two; 


ii4  THE    PEST 

I've  one  or  two  to  spare,"  she  said,  looking  at 
her  reflection  in  the  glass.  "  Oh,  don't  worry  to 
ring,  I'll  let  myself  out.  I'm  never  proud,  except 
when  it  pays  me  to  be  so.  Good  night;  be  good 
and  you  won't  be  happy." 

There  was  a  frank  bonhomie  about  the  woman 
that  attracted  Marian.  Their  aims  were  different, 
perhaps,  but  their  methods  seemed  much  the 
same.  Moreover,  it  seemed  not  unlikely  that  she 
might  prove  helpful,  and  that  in  some  matters 
and  on  some  occasions  she  might  be  a  useful  ad- 
viser. Further,  there  was  a  growing  lawlessness 
in  Marian's  blood  that  made  her  thirst  sometimes 
to  taste  degradation,  and  this  woman  could  lead 
her  to  it. 

It  was  now  nearly  six  o'clock.  She  had  prom- 
ised Maddison  to  go  round  early  to  the  studio. 
She  wished  now  that  she  had  been  free  to  accept 
Mrs.  Harding's  invitation,  and  made  up  her  mind 
to  do  so  some  night  soon,  if  it  could  be  safely 
arranged. 

The  housekeeper  opened  the  door  to  her,  and 
told  her  that  a  gentleman  was  waiting  in  the 
studio  to  see  Mr.  Maddison.  Marian  nodded 
and  went  in,  expecting  to  find  Mortimer  or  one 
of  the  other  men  who  had  been  summoned.  The 
big  room  was  dimly  lit.  She  shut  the  door 
behind  her  and  went  toward  the  fireplace,  in  a 


THE    PEST  115 

chair  by  which  a  man  was  sitting  with  his  back 
toward  her. 

He  rose  at  the  sound  of  her  approach.  It  was 
her  husband. 

"Marian!" 

She  stood  stock-still  as  he  came  quickly  toward 
her,  with  his  hands  outstretched. 

But  the  eager  joy  in  his  eyes  was  met  by  anger 
in  hers. 

"How  dare  you  come  here?"  she  asked. 
"  Keep  away  from  me.  Don't  touch  me  I  " 

He  stopped,  bewildered. 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  here?"  she 
went  on. 

x 

"  I  didn't  know.  I've  searched  and  searched 
for  you,  walked  the  streets  in  the  hope  of  catch- 
ing a  glimpse  of  you.  Then  Ellis  told  me  he 
had  seen  you  with  Mr.  Maddison,  so  I  came 
straight  here,  thinking  he  would  perhaps  know 
your  address.  But  I  can  hardly  speak — I'm  so 
glad." 

"  You'd  better  go  back  and  sit  down  again. 
I've  something  to  say  to  you.  You — don't  under- 
stand." 

The  tone  of  her  voice  chilled  him  as  if  an  icy 
finger  had  been  laid  upon  his  heart,  but  he  did 
not  move. 

"What  is  it?" 


n6  THE    PEST 

She  went  past  him  over  to  the  fireplace,  and 
stood  there  looking  at  the  glowing  logs.  So  he 
knew  really  nothing!  Should  she  tell  him  every- 
thing? She  quickly  decided  not  to  do  so  unless 
driven  to  it.  Turning  round  sharply  to  him, 
she  said: 

"  You  don't  understand.  I  left  you  because  I 
didn't  want  to  see  you  again.  Coming  after  me 
like  this  won't  make  any  difference,  won't  do  a 
bit  of  good.  I've  left  you  and  I  won't  come 
back.  You'd  better  forget  me  as  quickly  as  you 


can." 


"  I  can't,  I  can't,"  he  repeated.  "  I  can't.  And 
why  should  I?  I  want  you  to  forgive  me.  I 
did  try  to  be  good  to  you,  but  I  must  have  failed 
miserably  to  have  driven  you  away  from  me.  I've 
been  thinking  over  what  you  said  about  my 
being  selfish.  Come  back.  Try  me  once  more. 
Won't  you?" 

"  No.  I  won't.  I  can't.  You  don't  under- 
stand. I  hate  you.  I  hate  everything  you  think 
and  do.  We're  utterly  different." 

With  a  gesture  of  helpless  despair  he  turned 
away  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down. 

She  could  not  help  pitying  him. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said,  "  but  it  can't  be  helped. 
It  was  a  stupid  mistake  our  marrying — but  I  didn't 
know  myself  then.  You  don't  know  me  now.  It 


THE   PEST  117 

would  be  a  worse  mistake,  though,  for  me  to  come 
back." 

"  God  help  me.  I've  thought  of  nothing  but 
you  since  you  went  away.  Is  there  nothing  I  can 
do  ? — nothing  I  can  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Nothing,"  she  broke  in  vehemently. 
"  Nothing,  I  tell  you.  Why  can't  you  believe  me  ? 
It's  no  use  talking  about  it.  You'd  better  go." 

He  stood  looking  at  her,  but  could  read  in  her 
eyes  only  stubborn  defiance.  For  the  first  time  he 
noticed  the  new  brightness  in  her  beauty  and  the 
richness  of  her  dress. 

"Where  are  you?"  he  asked;  "what  are  you 
doing?" 

"  I'm  quite  happy,  or  rather  should  be  if  only 
you'd  leave  me  alone,"  was  the  answer. 

But  he  persisted,  there  coming  suddenly  into  his 
mind  a  suspicion  of  the  truth. 

"  Why  are  you  here?  The  servant  must  have 
told  you  Maddison  was  out,  and — you  came  in  as 
if  you  were  at  home." 

"  I  won't  answer  any  more  questions.  I  told 
you  you'd  better  go." 

"  You  needn't  answer.  I  know.  I  can  see  it 
in  your  face.  You're  this  man's  mistress.  You 
— come  to  this.  But  it's  not  too  late.  Come 
away,  with  me — we'll  go  away — anywhere,  far 
away " 


n8  THE    PEST 

"  Oh !  why  don't  you  go? "  she  interrupted, 
stamping  her  foot,  and  clenching  her  hands  as  if 
she  would  have  liked  to  strike  him.  "  I  am  his 
mistress.  Now,  go." 

"  Not  without  you " 

"  You  must.  You're  simply  making  a  fool  of 
yourself.  I'm  alive  and  free  now — do  you  think 
you  can  get  me  back?  Save  as  many  other  souls 
as  you  can,  but  let  me  do  as  I  like  with  mine. 
Haven't  you  any  pride  ?  I'm  through  and  through 
what  you  call  a  bad  woman.  I'm  wicked  because 
I  enjoy  being  wicked.  Even  if  I  tired  of  it,  I'd  not 
come  back  to  you." 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  before  he  could  find  his 
speech  the  servant  came  in. 

"  This  gentleman  has  left  a  message  with  me 
for  Mr.  Maddison,"  Marian  said;  then  bowing 
coldly  to  Edward,  added:  "  Good  night." 

The  servant  held  the  door  open. 

Squire  hesitated,  and  then  let  his  eyes  drop 
before  hers  and  slowly  went  out. 

When  she  heard  the  outer  door  shut,  she  sat 
down  and  began  slowly  to  pull  off  her  long  gloves. 
He  might  come  back,  even  to-night.  She  knew 
how  persistent  he  could  be  and  felt  sure  he  would 
not  leave  any  effort  untried  to  take  her  away  from 
the  life  she  was  leading,  even  if  he  could  not  per- 
suade her  to  return  to  him. 


THE    PEST  119 

She  folded  the  gloves  mechanically  and  laid 
them  on  the  table  beside  her.  Then  took  off  her 
hat  and  sank  back  in  the  chair,  her  hands  gripping 
the  arms  tightly. 

The  position  seemed  impossible,  and  she  was 
angry  that  she  had  not  foreseen  and  provided  for 
it.  Either  something  must  be  done  to  prevent  her 
husband  coming  here  again,  or  she  must  only 
meet  Maddison  elsewhere.  Was  not  this  last  the 
solution?  If  she  only  saw  him  at  her  flat— or 
elsewhere — anywhere  but  here — it  would  free  her 
sufficiently  from  him  to  allow  of  her  pursuing 
other  ends  and  other  pleasures,  while  she  could 
hold  him  to  her  sufficiently  closely  and  for  a  suffi- 
cient length  of  time  to  obtain  all  she  required 
from  him. 

Then  the  thought  struck  her  that  Edward  would 
probably  be  waiting  outside  and  might  waylay 
Maddison  and  make  a  scene.  This  must  be 
avoided.  The  only  chance  of  leading  him  away, 
if  indeed  he  were  waiting,  was  for  her  to  leave; 
he  would  follow  her.  She  hastily  made  ready  and 
went  out. 

She  looked  cautiously  up  and  down  the  dimly 
lit  street,  but  could  not  see  him.  She  walked 
quickly,  and  as  she  turned  into  the  main  thorough- 
fare, glanced  back  and  saw  that  he  was  following 
her.  She  hastened  on,  sure  that  he  would  keep 


120  THE   PEST 

her  in  sight.  An  empty  hansom  cab  came  along; 
she  got  in,  bidding  the  driver  go  to  Piccadilly 
Circus. 

No  thought  of  the  agony  Squire  was  enduring 
came  into  her  mind.  She  was  angry,  excited,  pos- 
sessed by  a  spirit  of  malicious  mischief.  A  bend 
in  the  road  enabled  her  to  look  back:  there 
was  no  other  vehicle  in  sight.  She  pushed  open 
the  trap  door  above  her  head,  told  the  driver  that 
she  had  forgotten  something,  and  bade  him  drive 
to  the  studio.  Then  she  opened  the  lamp  that  was 
behind  her,  blew  out  the  light,  and  then  huddled 
as  closely  as  possible  into  the  corner  nearest  that 
side  of  the  road  along  which  Squire  would  most 
likely  come. 

She  looked  eagerly,  and  soon  passed  him,  walk- 
ing slowly,  bent  and  bowed. 

When  she  reached  the  studio  Maddison  was 
there. 

"  What's  up?  "  he  said.  "  You  rush  in,  I  hear, 
have  an  interview  with  a  mysterious  stranger,  rush 
away  and  rush  back  again.  But  give  me  a  kiss 
before  you  answer.  Now,  sit  on  my  knee  and 
'fess." 

"  George,  my  husband's  been  here." 

"The  devil!" 

"  The  devil  would  have  been  easier  to  manage ; 
he  doesn't  want  to  save  souls." 


THE    PEST 

She  then  told  him  most  but  not  all  of  what  had 
taken  place. 

"  It  is  awkward.  Do  you  think  he'll  come 
again?  " 

"  Sure  to,  that's  the  trouble.  Nothing  I  can  say 
— or  you — will  stop  him.  You  don't  know  what 
he  is.  We're  safe  for  to-night,  so  you  needn't 
worry  about  that,  but  what  can  we  do?  There 
mustn't  be  a  row,  for  your  sake.  Hullo!  there's 
somebody,  and  not  a  thing  ready." 

"  All  the  better — all  the  more  like  a  picnic. 
It's  Fred.  Come  along,  we  appoint  you  chef. 
Marian  shall  be  kitchen  maid.  I'll  lay  the 
table." 


CHAPTER   XI 

MADDISON  was  not  surprised  at  a  visit  from 
Squire  early  the  next  morning;  and  if  not  armed  he 
was  at  any  rate  forewarned. 

He  offered  him  a  chair  and  a  cigarette,  both  of 
which  were  curtly  refused. 

"  As  you  will,"  Maddison  said,  seemingly  care- 
less and  supercilious,  but  in  reality  closely  watch- 
ing his  opponent's  face.  "  I  hope  you  will 
not  mind  my  both  sitting  and  smoking;  both 
are  conducive  to  comfort,  and  what's  life  without 
comfort?  " 

"  It  will  be  better,"  Squire  said,  shuffling  awk- 
wardly, "  to  talk  simply  and  without  any  remarks 
which  are  likely  to  be  offensive.  You  know  why 
I've  come?  " 

"  Unless  you  tell  me  I  shall  never  know.  This 
visit  seems  as  useless  as  it  is  unpleasant.  I  can't 
think  what  you  have  to  say  which  wouldn't  be 
better  unsaid." 

"  No,  I  suppose  you  cannot.  I  suppose  we  look 
at  almost  everything  from  a  different  standpoint. 
I've  come  to  say " 

IM 


THE    PEST  123 

"  You  are  presuming,  Mr.  Squire,  that  I  am 
willing  to  listen  to  you." 

"  Naturally.  You  allowed  your  servant  to  show 
me  in." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  you're  quite  right.  But 
I  do  wish  you'd  sit  down ;  it  makes  me  feel  so  awk- 
ward to  see  you  standing  up." 

"  I  saw  Marian  last  night,"  Squire  said,  taking 
no  notice  of  Maddison's  remark;  "  I  suppose  she 
told  you." 

"  Yes.  The  meeting  annoyed  her  very  much. 
It  was  natural  for  you  to  assume  that  I  let  you 
in  because  I  was  willing  to  listen  to  you.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  was  because  I  must  absolutely 
refuse  to  do  so.  But,  unless  you  refuse  to  hear 
me,  I've  just  this  much  to  tell  you.  The  lady 
you  mentioned  is  living  under  my  care,  and  I 
will  protect  her  against  annoyance.  If  you  have 
any  communication  to  make  I  will  send  you  my 
solicitor's  name  and  address.  Now — you'd  bet- 
ter go." 

"  Even  if  she  were  not  my  wife,  I've  a  right  to 
do  all  I  can  to  rescue  her  from  a  life  of  sin." 

"  Please  don't  platitudinize  to  me." 

Squire  reddened  with  anger  and  clenched  his 
fists :  recourse  to  brute  force  suggests  itself  instinct- 
ively to  the  fighter  who  is  mentally  weaker  than  his 
opponent. 


124  THE    PEST 

"  What  right  have  you  to  say  that?  "  he  asked 
vehemently,  "what  right?  I  believe  what  I  say 
and  do  my  best  to  act  up  to  my  beliefs." 

"  Then  live  in  charity,  with  all  men,  even  with 
a  sinner  and  a  publican  like  me,  and  judge  not  that 
ye  be  not  judged.  I  don't  shove  my  beliefs  on 
you.  You  live  in  such  an  unpractical  world  that 
you  do  not  realize  the  stupidity  of  forcing  your- 
self upon  me.  I've  really  no  more  to  say.  The 
law  gives  you  your  remedy,  but  it  won't  assist  you 
to  trespass  here  or  to  force  yourself  upon  your  wife. 
Good  morning." 

Squire  realized  that  he  was  helpless  against 
Maddison;  denunciation  would  achieve  no  good 
end;  it  would  be  equally  useless  to  base  an  appeal 
upon  grounds  of  morality.  But  for  Marian's 
sake  he  was  ready  to  humble  himself  in  a  last 
endeavor. 

"  As  man  to  man " 

"  Oh,  my  dear  sir !  "  Maddison  exclaimed, 
"  don't  talk  that  way.  If  you  tried  to  knock  me 
down  I  could  understand,  if  not  respect,  you.  In 
these  affairs  men  don't  argue,  they  act,  according 
to  the  law  of  nature  or  preferably  of  man.  Don't 
let  us  indulge  in  a  vulgar,  unprofitable  brawl. 
Good  morning." 

"  Then  I'll  go  to  her.  Give  me  her  ad- 
dress." 


THE    PEST  125 

"  Certainly  not.  She  does  not  wish  you  to 
know  it." 

11  Then  I'll  watch." 

"  As  you  please.  But  remember,  you've  no 
right  to  persecute  her;  though  many  husbands 
think  otherwise — that  is  not  one  of  the  privileges 
of  matrimony." 

Squire  checked  an  angry  retort  and  then  ab- 
ruptly went  out. 

Maddison  spoke  truly  when  he  said  that  to 
him  comfort  was  one  of  the  saving  graces  of  life, 
indeed  to  him  it  was  almost  the  only  one.  This 
entry  of  Squire  upon  the  scene  and  this  turning 
a  comedy  into  a  domestic  drama  vexed  and  an- 
noyed him.  It  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  any 
man  would  act  so  unconventionally  as  Squire  had 
done.  Marian  had  told  him  that  her  husband 
would  not  divorce  her,  looking  as  he  did  upon 
marriage  as  a  sacramental  bond  which  no  man 
had  a  right  to  break;  so  Maddison  had  thought 
that  there  might  be  an  appeal  to  Marian  if  Squire 
discovered  her  whereabouts,  an  angry  scene  very 
likely  and  then  peace.  But  it  had  not  entered 
into  his  calculations  that  Squire  would  be  so  per- 
sistent; this  type  of  man  was  new  and  unknown 
to  him,  of  a  kind  that  he  did  not  understand  how 
best  to  tackle.  To  discuss  the  situation  with 
Marian  would  be  distasteful ;  there  remained  only 


126  THE   PEST 

Mortimer  to  whom  he  could  speak  frankly,  rely- 
ing upon  the  good  common  sense  of  any  advice  he 
might  obtain  from  him. 

At  this  hour  of  the  morning  Mortimer  should 
be  at  his  office,  and  there  Maddison  rang 
him  up. 

"  Is  Mr.  Mortimer  in?  " 

"  Which  one?  "  was  the  brusque  reply. 

"  Mr.  Frederick." 

"Don't  know.    Who  is  it?" 

"  Tell  him  Mr.  Maddison  wants  to  speak  to 
him  for  a  minute." 

11  Hold  the  line." 

Mortimer  glady  accepted  Maddison's  invitation 
to  lunch. 

"  But  why  on  earth  come  down  to  this  dreary 
part  of  town?  "  he  asked.  "  Don't  deprive  me  of 
a  lovely  excuse  for  leaving  here  early  and  coming 
back  late — if  at  all.  Meet  me  outside  the  Palace, 
and  I'll  take  you  to  a  tidy  little  French  restaurant 
I've  just  discovered  and  haven't  yet  found  out. 
One  o'clock — all  right !  " 

Both  were  punctual,  and  Mortimer  guided  his 
friend  through  several  small  and  unsavory  streets 
to  a  narrow  court  at  the  far  end  of  which  was  situ- 
ated the  humble  restaurant  bearing  the  high- 
sounding  name  La  Palais. 

"  It's  not  much  to  look  at,"  he  said,  as  they 


THE    PEST  127 

went  in  through  the  swing  door,  "  like  an  ugly 
woman  with  a  pretty  wit.  Bon  jour,  Madame." 

Madame,  a  stout,  jolly-looking  woman,  greeted 
Mortimer  cordially,  and  nodded  genially  to  his 
companion. 

"  Now,  Madame,  I've  brought  a  friend  with  me 
and  I've  told  him — well,  I've  told  him  the  truth 
about  you.  So  don't  shatter  my  entirely  unde- 
served reputation  for  veracity.  We'll  have  this 
snug  corner  and  leave  the  menu  to  you.  You  know 
the  kind  of  thing  I  like." 

The  room  was  long  and  low;  clean,  neat,  with 
little  attempt  at  decoration ;  the  walls  covered  with 
plain,  dark  gray  paper,  the  electric  light  pendants 
severely  simple;  flowering  shrubs  stood  upon  the 
pay  desk  near  the  entrance,  and  similar  plants  or 
cut  flowers  upon  the  tables. 

"  I  can't  make  out  how  this  place  pays,"  said 
Mortimer,  "  there  are  never  more  than  a  handful 
of  people  here.  I  suppose  it  will  suddenly  become 
popular  and  then  rapidly  deteriorate.  That's  the 
history  of  all  these  places.  Meanwhile  let  us 
rejoice.  We'll  have  some  Chianti,  but  will  not 
drink  it  neat  as  do  the  barbarians,  but  judiciously 
tempered  with  Polly." 

Lunch  finished,  coffee  and  cigars  produced, 
Mortimer  announced  that  he  was  ready  to  talk 
seriously. 


128  THE   PEST 

"  What's  up  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  shall  have  all 
the  advice  I  can  give  and  I  shan't  be  in  the  least 
hurt  if  you  don't  follow  any  of  it.  Your  mind's 
sure  to  be  made  up  already  and  you  simply  ask 
for  advice  in  the  hope  that  my  view  will  be  your 


view." 


"  No,  I  don't,  Fred.  Not  such  an  ass.  I'm  in 
a  bad  corner  and  I'm  damned  if  I  know  how  to 
get  out  of  it.  I  don't  know  whether  you  know 
that  Mrs.  Squire  has  a  husband  ?  " 

"  I  didn't.  I  imagined  the  prefix  to  be  entirely 
ceremonial." 

"  He's  a  parson." 

"The  devil!" 

"  Worse,  a  saint.  He  doesn't  believe  in  divorce 
and  is  obstinately  determined  to  persecute  Marian. 
He  says  he  won't  leave  a  stone  unturned  to  save 
her.  Please  laugh.  There's  a  comic  side  to  it,  I 
know,  but  it's  turned  away  from  me." 

"  I  know  the  type.  I've  met  one  or  two  of 
them,"  said  Mortimer,  reflectively  watching  the 
smoke  of  his  cigar;  "  I  bet  he'll  give  you  a  deuced 
lot  of  trouble.  Unreasonable  people  are  most 
difficult  to  deal  with,  they  never  know  how  un- 
reasonable they  are.  And  a  man  who  doesn't 
play  according  to  the  rules —  But,  tell  me  all 
about  it." 
'  Maddison  told  him  all  that  he  knew  of  Squire 


THE   PEST  129 

and  of  Marian's  and  his  own  meetings  with 
him. 

"Beastly  awkward!"  was  Mortimer's  com- 
ment. 

"  You  can  pretty  well  guess  I'm  stumped,"  said 
Maddison.  "  I  don't  know  what's  best  to  do." 

"  Excuse  my  asking,  I  must  know  all  the  facts 
of  the  case :  you  don't  want  to  break  off  with  Mrs. 
Squire?" 

"No!" 

"  All  right !  Don't  blaze  up,  we're  talking 
politics,  not  poetry.  It's  not  one  of  those  cases  in 
which  you  can  sit  still  and  let  fate  play  your  cards. 
The  man  will  stick  at  nothing.  Eventually  he 
must  meet  her  again,  even  if  she  doesn't  come  to 
your  place.  He'll  haunt  you.  Perhaps  catch  you 
together  in  some  public  place  and  kick  up — the 
saints'  own  delight." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  can  see  all  that.  I  know  what  I've 
got  to  face — but  I  don't  want  to  face  it." 

"  I  was  mentally  marking  time.  If  I  knew  what 
to  suggest  I  would  have  told  you  at  once.  Let's 
be  practical ;  there  are  three  parties  to  the  business  : 
you — she — he.  The  question  is  how  to  avoid 
you  and  she,  or,  at  any  rate,  you,  being  brought 
into  contact  with  him.  Could  you  both  go  away 
for  a  while  ?  " 

"  Easily." 


130  THE    PEST 

"  In  a  time  you  and  she  would  be  safe.  What 
would  he  do?  Hunt  after  you — find  that  you 
had  left  town " 

"  That's  all  very  well,  but  we  can't  stay  away 
forever." 

"  Forever ! "  murmured  Mortimer,  gazing 
sadly  up  at  the  ceiling.  "Easy!  Easy!  Leav- 
ing out  of  the  question  the  possibility  of  your 
tiring  of  her — he  can't  spend  the  rest  of  his  life 
chasing  after  you.  Even  if  he  could,  he  wouldn't. 
You  don't  know  the  man  as  well  as  I  do,  although 
I've  never  met  him.  It's  love — fleshly  love — 
as  well  as  duty  that's  urging  him  on  now.  Duty 
will  regain  the  upper  hand,  and  he'll  argue  that 
he  has  no  right  to  leave  undone  the  work  that 
is  merely  duty,  in  order  to  pursue  duty  plus  per- 
sonal interest.  He's  actively  engaged  in  trying 
to  save  one  particularly  attractive  soul  now;  he'll 
soon  swerve  round  and  work  again  on  the  multi- 
tude. As  far  as  his  wife  is  concerned,  he'll  fall 
back  upon  the  masterly  inactivity  of  prayer.  I 
may  be  quite  wrong,  but  unless  you  can  hit  upon 
a  better  plan,  I  don't  see  that  you  can  do  better 
than — hook  it.  I  have  spoken." 

"  I've  still  got  the  cottage  down  at  Rottingdean; 
we  could  run  down  for  a  month." 

l<  Where  die  stormy  winds  do  blow !  Poor, 
dear  lady." 


THE    PEST  131 

"  I  can't  work  in  a  racket." 

"  Well,  it's  as  easy  to  leave  as  to  go  there. 
Three  o'clock!  by  Jove,  I  must  get  back.  I've 
some  letters  to  sign,  and  I'm  going  down  to  West's 
for  dinner.  She  tells  me  you're  going  to  paint  her 
portrait." 

"  She  tells  the  truth — although  she  draws  upon 
her  imagination.  West  suggested  my  doing  so, 
but  I  haven't  agreed  yet." 

"  Have  you  met  Miss  Lane?  " 

"  Once,  at  dinner." 

"  She's  worth  studying.     WTorth  painting  too." 

"Oh!" 

"  Not  I.  I  don't  even  like  her.  A  man  never 
falls  in  love  with  a  woman  he  studies,  but  with 
the  woman  who  studies  him.  I  must  be  off.  See 
you  again  soon.  Let  me  hear  from  you  if  you  run 
away." 

As  he  walked  homeward,  Maddison  pondered 
over  the  problem,  oblivious  of  people  and  places. 
Squire's  intrusion  into  his  life  had  brought  home 
to  him  that  Marian  and  the  joy  of  life  were  one 
for  him.  He  had  entered  into  this  intrigue  to  a 
certain  extent  deliberately,  but  had  not  contem- 
plated the  possibility  of  Marian's  attraction  for 
him  becoming  anything  stronger  than  a  mere 
physical  appeal  to  his  sensuous  nature.  He  had 
always  believed  that  art  was  the  only  impulse  in 


132  THE   PEST 

his  life,  that  in  all  else  he  was  governed  by  his 
reason.  He  did  not  drink  too  much,  because  rea- 
son and  experience  told  him  that  after  a  certain 
point  wine  became  a  tasteless  stimulant.  He  did 
not  permit  any  woman  entirely  to  captivate  him. 
Experience  and  reason — so  he  thought — taught 
him  that  women  were  like  wine. 

But  Marian  had  won  a  place  in  his  life  that 
no  other  woman  had  ever  approached.  For  a 
moment,  the  night  before,  Squire's  attack  had 
made  him  think  that  a  temporary  separation  be- 
tween himself  and  Marian  might  be  necessary,  and 
the  mere  notion  had  struck  him  with  a  chill, 
sick  fear.  Everything  in  his  life  belonged  to  her. 
All  that  he  attempted  or  accomplished  in  his  daily 
round  or  in  his  work  centered  on  her;  she  was  his 
motive  power.  Another  matter  had  recently  come 
home  to  him ;  he  had  never  been  extravagant,  but 
had  always  lived  fairly  up  to  his  means.  His  sup- 
port of  Marian  had  made  heavy  demand,  not  only 
upon  his  income  but  upon  the  small  amount  he  had 
saved,  and  he  was  now  face  to  face  with  the  neces- 
sity of  adding  largely  to  his  earnings. 

He  had  never  condescended  to  force  his  art, 
never  painted  for  money  alone.  Inspiration,  not 
necessity,  had  been  the  mother  of  his  invention. 
Even  in  the  painting  of  portraits  he  had  held 
himself  entirely  free  to  refuse  any  commission 


THE    PEST  133 

that  was  not  entirely  to  his  taste.  Now,  how- 
ever, he  was  no  longer  free;  he  must  paint  for 
money  or  curtail  his  expenditure.  To  do  the  lat- 
ter would  mean  depriving  Marian  of  certain  pleas- 
ures and  luxuries,  the  doing  of  which  would  be 
abhorrent  to  him.  Not  for  an  instant  did  it  occur 
to  him  to  question  Marian's  loyalty;  could  he 
offer  her  only  a  cottage  and  country  fare  that 
would  suffice  her.  When  she  first  came  to  him, 
he  believed  that  his  chief  claim  upon  her  was  that 
he  offered  her  freedom.  But  he  now  felt  assured 
that  as  his  love  for  her  had  grown  deeper  and 
deeper  so  had  hers  for  him. 

Therefore  for  more  reasons  than  one,  the  idea 
of  a  country  retreat  appealed  to  him  strongly. 
While  there  he  would  be  altogether  with  Marian; 
he  could  at  the  same  time  work  strenuously,  he 
could  live  inexpensively. 

When  he  reached  the  flat  he  learned  that 
Marian  had  gone  out,  but  would  be  home  to  tea, 
and  he  decided  to  wait  for  her  return. 

Smoking  cigarette  after  cigarette,  he  paced  up 
and  down,  from  room  to  room.  Every  detail 
seemed  to  bear  the  impress  of  her  personality.  He 
stopped  more  than  once  before  the  pastel  on 
the  easel  by  the  drawing-room  window.  He 
pulled  back  the  curtain  as  far  as  it  would  go  so 
as  to  let  in  the  full  strength  of  the  waning  light. 


134  THE    PEST 

Striking  as  was  the  likeness,  he  felt  that  he  had 
failed  to  catch  the  whole  charm  of  her  face;  the 
beauty  was  there,  but  not  the  pleading  fasci- 
nation. He  tried  to  imagine  how  much  he  would 
suffer  if  she  were  to  die.  Drops  of  perspiration 
broke  out  upon  his  forehead  as  he  realized  over- 
whelmingly that  perhaps  he  might  have  over- 
estimated her  love  for  him,  and  that  perhaps 
she  would  one  day  again  take  her  freedom.  The 
thought  of  it  was  agony.  He  stood  before  the 
picture  wrought  into  a  tumult  of  emotion.  She 
came  in,  stood  beside  him  unheard,  until  she 
spoke: 

"  What  a  loyal  lover !  When  he  can't  worship 
the  original " 

"  I  do  worship  you,"  he  exclaimed,  turning 
fiercely,  seizing  her  hands  and  crushing  them  be- 
tween his  own.  "  I  do,  that's  the  only  word 
for  it,  that's  the  very  truth.  Look  at  me — 
straight — you're  everything  to  me;  what  am  I 
to  you  ?  " 

"  You're  hurting  my  hand " 

"  /  hurting  you !  "  he  said,  loosening  his  hold, 
"  and  I  am  ready  to  do  anything  to  save  you  one 
moment's  pain.  You  haven't  answered  me;  am  I 
everything  to  you  ?  " 

"  Do  you  need  to  ask?  "  she  answered,  looking 
boldly  back  at  him,  so  that  as  he  gazed  into  her 


THE    PEST  135 

eyes,  he  seemed  to  see  deep  into  her  soul.  "  I 
never  asked  you.  You  show  me  how  much  you 
love  me,  and  I've  tried  to  show  you.  I  suppose  " 
— she  faltered  and  turned  away — "  I  suppose  I've 
failed." 

'*  You're  right,  Marian,"  he  said,  catching  her 
in  his  arms,  turning  her  face  to  him,  and  kissing 
her  passionately  again  and  again ;  "  but  I  do  like 
to  hear  you  say  it.  Would  you  like  it  if  I  never 
told  you  how  much  I  love  you?  " 

"  No,  no,  dear,  of  course  I  shouldn't.  Some- 
how it's  not  my  way  to  say  it;  I'll  try  to  some- 
times, but  don't  make  me  do  so  now.  Let  me  say 
it  when  it  comes  to  my  lips." 

"  All  right,  dearie,  you're  right." 

"  Now,  come  along.  We'll  have  tea.  I  felt 
sure  you  were  coming  to-day,  so  I  ran  out  to  get 
some  of  those  cakes  you  liked  so  much." 

It  was  a  fancy  of  his  that  she  should  always 
make  the  tea  herself.  The  room  was  growing 
dark.  She  looked  very  graceful,  tenderly  deli- 
cate, as  she  knelt  on  the  hearth-rug,  the  fire- 
light playing  hide-and-seek  in  her  hair  and  the 
folds  of  her  dress.  Her  eyes  looked  dreamy 
as  she  stared  into  the  blaze,  waiting  for  the  ket- 
tle to  boil  up,  which  she  had  set  on  the  fire,  too 
impatient  to  wait  for  the  spirit-lamp  to  do  its 
work. 


136  THE    PEST 

It  was  not  until  she  had  settled  herself  cozily 
into  the  deep  armchair  that  he  broke  the 
silence. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  spend  a  month  or  so 
down  at  Rottingdean?  I've  got  a  small  cottage 
there;  very  comfortable,  very  lonely  and  very 
quiet." 

The  unexpected  question  startled  her.  The 
proposal  upset  all  her  schemes,  and  the  call  for  an 
immediate  reply  tried  her  skill. 

"  What  made  you  think  of  it  ? "  she  asked, 
temporizing. 

"  Well,  I  thought  it  might  be — pleasanter,  if  we 
kept  out  of  sight  for  a  while." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  I  see !  Do  you  like  the 
idea?" 

"I  rather  do.  I'd  like  anywhere  with  you; 
best  of  all,  anywhere,  we  should  always  be 
together." 

»  Until " 

"Until  what?" 

"  Until  you're  tired  of  me." 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  went  over  to  him 
and  sat  down  at  his  feet,  her  head  resting  on  his 
knee.  It  was  preferable  to  her  to  sit  so,  her 
face  hidden  from  him;  eyes  are  traitors  often- 
times. 

"  Always  together,"  she  went  on,  "  how  good 


THE    PEST  137 

that  would  be  for  me;  for  me.  But,  George,  I 
don't  think  it  would  be  good  for  us  both." 

"You  mean  what?" 

"  Why  this,  dear.  The  woman  depends  upon 
the  man,  always  wants  him  near  her  if  not  actually 
with  her.  Men,  I  think,  are  different;  they  only 
depend  upon  us  sometimes,  and  then  they  come 
to  us." 

44  Then  you  don't  know  what  I  know,  dear. 
You've  taught  me  to  depend  upon  you — always, 
altogether,  all  day  long.  While  I  was  waiting  for 
you  just  now,  I  was  mad  because  the  thought  en- 
tered my  head  that  perhaps  you  did  not  really  love 
me  very  much,  after  all." 

"  What  a  silly  thought !  But  I'm  glad  it  hurt 
you ;  isn't  that  horrid  of  me  ?  " 

He  leaned  down  and  kissed  her  upturned  face. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  what  about  Rottingdean  ?  " 

"  George — before  I  tell  you  what  I  think — 
tell  me  right  out,  what  put  the  notion  into  your 
head?  You  think  we  should  be  safer  there  than 
here?" 

44  Why,  of  course " 

44 1  don't  agree  with  you.  Your  being  there 
is  sure  to  get  into  the  papers  one  way  or 
another.  He  will  see  it  there,  or  some  dear, 
kind  friend  will  tell  him,  and  he'd  come  down." 

44  It's  funny  we  didn't  think  of  that!  " 


138  THE    PEST 

"  We  ?  "  she  asked  quickly.    "  Who's  we  ?  " 

"  Why,  I — er — met  Mortimer.  He's  often 
done  my  thinking  for  me,  so  I  chatted  my  diffi- 
culty over  with  him." 

"  Two  great,  clever  men  of  the  world,  and  one, 
wee,  little  foolish  idea !  Why  didn't  you  come  and 
talk  it  over  with  me  ?  " 

"  Somehow— I  didn't  like  to." 

"Well,  let's  forget  clever  Mr.  Fred.  Don't 
you  agree  with  me,  it  wouldn't  do?  " 

"  Ye-es,  I  do.  We  could  go  abroad  ?  " 
'  That  would  only  make  his  journey  after  us 
longer.  He's  a  saint,  which  means  one  part  of 
lunacy  to  nine  parts  of  obstinacy.  It's  this  pig- 
headedness  that  makes  them  martyrs.  Who  was 
it  said  that  a  '  martyr  is  a  persecutor  who  has  got 
the  worst  of  it? '  Edward  will  persecute  me  until 
I  give  in,  or  he  dies." 

"  He  shan't!  "  Maddison  interjected  angrily. 

"  Oh,  no,  he  shan't  indeed,"  she  continued, 
laughing,  "  because  —  I  won't  let  him.  Now, 
while  you  two  wise  men  of  the  West  End  have 
been  talking,  I've  been  thinking.  Part  of 
your  plan  fits  in  with  mine.  You  must  go 
away " 

"  Not  without  you !  " 

"If  not  without  me,  you  may  as  well  stay  here. 
Don't  you  want  me  to  be  happy  ?  " 


THE    PEST  139 

"  Of  course  I  do.  That's  the  only  want  I 
have." 

"  Then  you  must  make  me  unhappy  for  a 
little  while,  so  that  I  may  be  quite  happy  by 
and  by.  If  you  go  down  to  Rottingdean  alone, 
I'll  manage  that  Edward  shall  hear  of  it.  He'll 
watch  you,  find  out  that  I'm  not  with  you,  and 
leave  you  alone.  I'll  stay  here ;  I  shan't  bother  to 
hide  away;  I  don't  mind  if  he  does  find  me 
out,  and  come  to  see  me.  I  don't  think  he'll  do 
it  twice.  Besides,  obstinate  as  he  is,  he  must  have 
some  pride  somewhere,  and  some  other  woman 
may  catch  hold  of  him :  I  never  believed  the  story 
St.  Anthony  told.  And  there's  this  hope  too:  he 
may  begin  to  think  he's  neglecting  his  real  work 
in  hunting  after  me." 

"  That's  what  Mortimer  thought." 

"  Did  he?  Now — don't  you  see  that  my  way 
is  the  better?" 

"  It  doesn't  make  any  difference.  I  won't  leave 
you." 

"  Don't  you  know  I  hate  the  mere  thought 
of  it?  But,  George,  I  won't  sacrifice  the 
future  to  the  present,  as  you're  so  ready  to 
do.  It  isn't  as  if  you  were  going  millions  of 
miles  away.  You  can  easily  run  up  to  town 
every  now  and  then — you  needn't  go  near 
the  studio,  just  stop  here  a  night  or  two.  I 


140  THE    PEST 

can  run  down  to  Brighton.  You  mustn't  be 
obstinate." 

"  I  shall  hate  it." 

"  So  shall  I !  "  she  exclaimed,  jumping  up,  "  so 
shall  I.  But  it's  the  best  way.  Do  you  love  me 
so  little,  George,  that  you  don't  know  that  I'm 
only  thinking  of  how  we  can  be  happiest  in  the 
end?  We  must  buy  the  future  at  the  expense  of 
the  present." 

Then,  sitting  on  his  knees,  she  took  his 
face  between  her  warm  hands,  looked  into  his 
eyes,  slowly  put  her  lips  to  his,  slowly  kissed 
him. 

"  You  witch !  "  he  said.  "  You  always  have 
your  own  way  I  " 

"  How  untrue !  But,  George,"  she  added 
quickly,  laying  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  "  don't 
misunderstand  me,  don't.  I  want  you,  want  you 
always,  and  I  shall  be  miserable  while  you  are 
away.  I  shall  just  count  the  days.  But  you'll 
come  up  to  see  me  and  I'll  come  down  to  see  you; 
it  might  be  worse.  And  how  lovely  it'll  be  when 
you  come  back." 

Maddison  was  dining  out  that  night,  and  she 
made  him  resist  the  sudden  temptation  to  tele- 
graph to  his  hostess,  pleading  illness  as  an  excuse 
for  not  keeping  his  engagement.  They  talked 
on  until  at  the  last  he  was  compelled  to  hurry  off, 


THE    PEST  141 

the  leave-taking  abruptly  ended  by  her  laughingly 
pushing  him  out. 

Then  she  danced  back  to  the  drawing  room, 
overjoyed  that  fate  had  played  so  well  into  her 
hands,  offering  her  the  opportunity  for  which  she 
had  been  longing,  of  being  free  upon  occasion 
to  go  whither  she  liked  and  to  do  what  she 
willed. 

"  If  only  all  men  were  as  easy  to  fool!  "  she 
thought;  "  perhaps  they  are,  when  one  knows  them 
and  they  don't  know  us." 

She  picked  up  her  hat  which  she  had  flung  on 
the  sofa,  and  pinned  it  on  quickly.  Then  she  went 
out,  closing  the  hall  door  quietly  behind  her,  but 
instead  of  going  down,  ran  upstairs  to  the  top 
floor,  where  Ethel  Harding  lived,  as  she  said, 
nearer  heaven  in  this  world  than  she  was  likely  to 
be  in  the  next. 

"  Hullo,  it's  you !  "  she  said,  answering  herself 
to  Marian's  ring.  "  Come  along  in.  The  girl's 
out  and  I'm  all  alone  and  lonely." 

She  led  the  way  into  a  small  sitting  room,  com- 
fortably but  somewhat  gaudily  furnished  and  deco- 
rated; a  bright  fire  burned  in  the  small  grate;  an 
incandescent  gas  light  glared  on  each  side  of  the 
overmantel ;  on  the  round  table  in  the  center  were  a 
dilapidated  flower  in  a  crimson  pot;  an  ash  tray, 
full  to  overflowing  with  cigarette  ends  and  ashes; 


THE    PEST 

and,  on  a  dirty  cheap  Japanese  tray,  a  half-empty 
siphon  of  soda  water,  a  bottle  of  brandy  three 
parts  full,  and  a  tumbler. 

"  I'm  in  an  awful  mess,  I  always  am !  "  Mrs. 
Harding  exclaimed,  as  she  picked  a  newspaper 
and  a  novel  out  of  an  armchair  and  flung  them 
on  the  sofa.  "  There,  do  sit  down.  Look  at  me 
too,  but  this  old  tea  gown  is  comfy.  I  hope  you've 
had  your  tea  ? — Eh  ?  " 

"  Just  finished  it." 

"  Good,  for  there  isn't  a  drop  of  hot  water 
ready.  I'm  not  much  of  a  tea  fighter  myself — 
a  B.  and  S.  is  more  in  my  line.  Have  one?  No? 
Well,  smoke  anyway.  Here's  a  new  sort  the 
old  man  brought  along:  they're  not  bad;  they're 
like  him,  not  bad  but  might  be  better.  Though 
I  mustn't  grumble  at  him  now,  for  he  just  ran 
up  to  give  me  these  and  to  say  he's  off  for  a 
week." 

"  Is  he?  Then  I'm  in  luck,  for  I'm  alone  too. 
Can't  we  go  out  and  dine  somewhere?  " 

"  Why,  yes.  We'll  go  to  the  Inferno,  as  I  call 
it;  we're  sure  to  meet  some  pals;  at  least  I  shall, 
and  I'll  introduce  them  if  you  like." 

"  Of  course  I  should.  I  haven't  been  there  for 
an  age,  and  I  do  want  some  fun." 

"  Getting    tired   of   Georgie  ?      He   is    a    bit 


serious." 


THE    PEST  143 

"  Well,  I  think  I  shall  appreciate  him  all  the 
more  if  I  don't  see  too  much  of  him." 

"  And  he'll  like  you  all  the  longer  if  he  don't 
see  too  much  pf  you.  That  sounds  jolly  rude,  don't 
it?  But  men  are  all  alike  in  some  things,  and 
one  of  them  is  that  they're  always  singing  '  When 
other  lips.'  And  just  you  beware  when  they  begin 
to  protest  that  they  can't  get  on  without  you :  that's 
always  a  sign  of  the  beginning  of  the  end  to  my 
mind.  Right-oh!  Have  a  B.  and  S.  ?  No — 
well,  daresay  you're  right.  I'll  have  one  more 
and  then  I'll  dress  and  we'll  be  off.  The  Inferno's 
crammed  always  and  I  hate  sitting  at  a  table  with 
other  people,  unless  I'm  one  and  he  the  other," 
she  added,  laughing. 

There  was  something  bold  and  free  about  the 
figure  of  the  woman  as  she  stood  beside  the  table 
with  her  hand  raised  to  put  the  glass  to  her  mouth, 
the  clinging  folds  of  the  slight  tea  gown  showing 
clearly  the  outline  of  her  stalwart  figure,  her  broad 
shoulders  and  shapely  breasts.  Marian  felt  slight 
and  fragile  by  comparison. 

Something  of  the  difference  between  them  had 
evidently  struck  Mrs.  Harding  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, for  she  said  as  she  put  down  the  empty 
glass : 

"  We  make  a  good  couple,  we  shall  never 
interfere  with  each  other's  game.  I  suppose 


144  THE    PEST 

you're  just  about  as  tall  as  me,  but  you're  slight 
and  I'm  big — quite  big  enough;  I'm  black  and 
you're  golden.  Are  you  going  to  change?  I 
shouldn't  if  I  were  you — that's  right — we  can 
chat  while  I  get  on  my  togs.  Where's  Georgie 
off  to?" 

"  Only  dining  out." 

"  Oh  1    Coming  along  later  on?  " 

"  I  expect  so." 

"  What  a  nuisance;  you'll  have  to  be  back  early, 
and  I  was  counting  on  having  some  fun  and  per- 
haps bringing  a  couple  of  boys  home  with  us. 
Well,  you  must  make  the  best  of  a  short  time  and 
hope  for  better  luck." 

Marian  made  no  response,  though  she  was 
disappointed  and  wished  that  she  were  free  for 
adventure,  any  that  would  break  the  dull  mo- 
notony of  her  present  way  of  living.  The  license 
of  this  woman's  life  made  hers  by  comparison  all 
the  more  strait. 

Pausing  for  a  minute  at  her  flat  to  put  on  her 
furs,  Marian  and  her  new  friend  went  down. 

"  Shall  we  bump  it  in  a  motor,  or  go  comfy  in 
a  hansom  ?  " 

"  Whichever  you  like,"  Marian  answered. 
"  I've  not  much  choice,  but  I  feel  rather  4  han- 
somy  '  this  evening,  don't  you?  " 

"  I  always  do.     I  was  born  with  the  itch  of 


THE    PEST  145 

spending.  The  only  thing  that  I  shall  do  cheap 
will  be  my  funeral,  and  I  don't  worry  about  that. 
Here's  one,  with  a  horse  that  don't  show  too  many 
of  his  ribs.  Jump  in  and  I'll  climb  sedately 
after — not  that  there's  anyone  about  who'd  ad- 
mire my  tootsies  if  I  did  show  'em  and  a  trifle 
more." 

Comparatively  early  as  they  were,  the  big  grill 
room  was  nearly  full,  and  they  had  to  con- 
tent themselves  with  a  small  table  in  a  far  corner, 
where,  however,  they  could  see,  even  if  not  much 
seen. 

"  It  does  make  me  laugh,"  said  Mrs.  Hard- 
ing, as  she  rolled  back  her  gloves,  "  to  see 
the  calm  cheek  of  some  fellows.  See  that  bald- 
headed  old  Jew  just  over  there?  That's  his 
wife  with  him.  Last  night  he  was  sitting  at  the 
same  table  with  Florrie  Kemp.  You  don't  know 
her?" 

"  No." 

"  She's  a  devil.  Drinks  like  a  fish.  Now  what 
are  we  going  to  eat  and  drink?  " 

For  a  short  while  Marian  seemed  out  of  tune 
with  the  scene  and  with  her  comrade,  but  the 
heat  of  the  room,  the  swirl  of  the  music  and  the 
buzz  of  voices,  the  rich  food  and  the  wine 
warmed  her,  and  she  fell  in  with  the  spirit  of  her 
companion. 


146  THE    PEST 

"  Hullo !  There's  Nosey  Geraldstein  staring 
at  you  as  if  he'd  like  to  eat  you.  He  hates  me, 
so  let's  have  him  over.  He's  mean  as  Moses, 
and  it'll  be  fun  to  make  him  pay  the  bill  and 
then  say  '  Good  night '  I  He's  coming !  He's  the 
ugliest  man  in  London  and  —  always  gets  any 
girl  he  wants.  So,  look  out  for  yourself.  Hullo, 
Sydney,  you  tried  to  look  the  other  way;  yes,  you 
may  join  us,  if  you  promise  to  behave  nicely.  Let 
me  introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Squire." 

Marian  thought  that  the  description  of  Gerald- 
stein  as  the  ugliest  man  in  town  was,  at  any 
rate,  no  gross  exaggeration;  his  heavy,  dark  face, 
black  and  lusterless  eyes,  lusterless,  lank,  black 
hair,  and  gross,  prominent  chin,  were  far  from 
prepossessing.  To  her  surprise  his  voice  was  soft, 
pleasant  and  refined;  she  almost  laughed,  it  was 
so  unexpected:  a  voice  that  to  a  handsome  man 
would  have  been  an  added  attraction,  came  as  if 
contrary  to  the  course  of  nature  from  one  so 
grotesquely,  almost  bestially,  ugly. 

"  I  never  look  for  anyone  here,"  he  said.  "  If 
a  friend  sees  me  and  says,  '  Hail,  fellow,'  all  right, 
but  in  a  crowd  I'm  lost.  This  is  a  nice,  secluded 
haven  of  refuge  you've  found,  and  it's  very  good 
of  you  to  let  me  share  it." 

"  These  are  his  '  just-introduced-to-a-stranger ' 
manners,  Marian.  Sydney's  got  more  soft  soap 


THE    PEST  147 

at  his  command  than  all  the  washerwomen  in 
London." 

"  But  not  enough  to  cleanse  the  reputations  of 
some  of  my  friends,"  said  Geraldstein.  "  Why 
drink  Burgundy?  It's  a  dull,  stupid  wine.  There 
are  only  three  wines  worth  drinking:  Rhine  wine 
when  I  want  to  be  inspired;  claret  when  I  want 
to  be  stimulated;  and  champagne  when  I  want 
to  remember  the  days  when  we  were  all  young 
and  innocent.  So — shall  we  have  a  bottle  of — 
fizzy  wine  ?  " 

"  It'd  take  several  bottles  to  make  you  forget 
yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Harding,  who  had  flushed 
uneasily  under  his  open  sneer. 

"  Ah,  Ethel,  you'll  never  make  a  conversation- 
alist; you  should  learn  to  give  and  never  take. 
Here's  Francis — I  call  all  waiters  Francis,  it  re- 
minds me  of  the  Boar's  Head — he's  one  of  my 
tame  waiters.  It  pays  to  have  a  tame  waiter  every- 
where." 

The  time  went  by  quickly,  Geraldstein  exert- 
ing himself  to  please  Marian,  who  for  her  part 
enjoyed  herself  thoroughly.  The  good  talk,  the 
good  wine  and  good  food,  the  atmosphere  of 
gayety,  the  sense  of  freedom,  intoxicated  her 
senses,  and  Geraldstein  congratulated  himself  that 
he  had  thought  it  worth  while  suffering  Ethel 
Harding  for  the  sake  of  an  introduction  to  the 


148  THE    PEST 

pretty  woman  with  her.  He  wondered  who  she 
could  be  and  what — evidently  not  an  ordinary 
woman  of  the  town. 

The  wine  heated  Marian,  who  usually  drank 
sparingly,  calling  a  splendid  glow  to  her  cheeks 
and  brilliancy  to  her  eyes;  many  of  the  men  there 
envied  Geraldstein.  She  listened  to  his  gay 
chatter  and  to  Ethel  Harding's  coarser  talk,  join- 
ing in  gayly  herself,  not  caring  what  she  said, 
uttering  every  quip  and  innuendo  that  came  to  her 
lips,  and  taking  the  meaning  of  his  delicately- 
veiled  impudences  with  laughter  and  railing  re- 
joinders. A  woman  to  go  mad  about  for  a  time 
at  any  rate,  thought  Geraldstein.  But  a  peculiarly 
broad  remark  of  Mrs.  Harding's  grated  on  her, 
and  chilled  her  spirit.  She  suddenly  realized  that 
Geraldstein  was  examining  her  points  as  he  would 
those  of  a  horse  or  a  dog  the  purchase  of  which 
he  was  considering.  She  seemed  to  hear  the 
chink  of  his  gold  as  he  bid  for  her  favors,  and 
the  thought  sickened  her.  She  could  understand 
the  drunkenness  of  indiscriminate  passion  or  the 
joy  of  purchasing  power  by  the  pretense  of 
passion,  but  cold-blooded  bargaining  with  coins 
disgusted  her. 

It  was  now  past  ten  o'clock,  and  she  made  the 
hour  an  excuse  for  moving. 

"  Don't  let  me  break  up  the  party;  you're  in 


THE    PEST  149 

no  hurry,  Ethel!  "  she  said,  using  the  Christian 
name  as  Mrs.  Harding  had  used  hers,  "  but  I  must 
be  off." 

"Off?"  said  Geraldstein.  "What  a  pity!  It's 
quite  early." 

"  Yes,  quite  early,"  Marian  answered.  "  I  like 
being  quite  early.  You  settle  the  bill,  Ethel,  and 
I'll  square  up  with  you  to-morrow." 

"  You'll  let  me  see  you  into  a  cab  ?  "  Geraldstein 
protested. 

"  No,  thanks.  I  can  look  after  myself  quite 
well." 

Geraldstein  did  not  press  the  point,  and  Marian 
went  away  alone. 


CHAPTER   XII 

IT  was  on  one  of  those  warm,  sunshiny  morn- 
ings with  which  Londoners  are  sometimes  startled 
in  mid  January  that  Maddison  drove  down  to 
Victoria  Station  en  route  for  Brighton.  So 
glorious  was  the  weather  that,  despite  his  heart- 
ache at  parting  with  Marian,  he  found  himself 
looking  forward  eagerly  to  his  holiday  by  the 
sea. 

The  platform  was  crowded,  and  having  run 
himself  rather  close  for  time,  he  found  there  would 
be  difficulty  in  securing  a  comfortable  seat.  As  he 
made  his  way  along  through  the  din  and  hubbub 
a  hand  was  laid  heavily  on  his  shoulder  and  turn- 
ing round  sharply  he  faced  Philip  West. 

"Hullo,  Maddison,  off  to  Brighton?  Come 
along  with  us,  I've  got  a  compartment — lots  of 
room,  and  the  missis  and  Miss  Lane.  Mrs.  West's 
not  been  up  to  much  lately,  and  the  doctor  says 
'  Brighton.'  Might  be  worse;  some  pokey,  in- 
validy  place  down  in  the  South.  I  can  manage  to 
amuse  myself  in  Brighton,  and  it's  convenient  for 
town  anyway." 

"  Nothing  much  the  matter,  I  hope?  " 
150 


THE    PEST  151 

"Oh,  nothing  at  all,  probably;  translated  into 
brutal  truth,  the  doctor  said  sRe  ate  too  many 
sweets  and  nonsense  and  too  little  food.  Run 
down." 

Maddison  thought  West's  manner  rather  cal- 
lous, and  wondered  what  Marian  would  feel  if 
he  ever  came  to  speak  so  lightly  of  her.  Was 
West  already  finding  out  the  emptiness  of  his  house 
of  love  ? 

Mrs.  West  greeted  Maddison  effusively,  and 
Miss  Lane  did  so  quietly;  a  minute  later  they  were 
rushing  along  Southward  Ho ! 

"What  brings  you  out  of  town,  Maddison?" 
West  asked. 

"  Work."  I've  got  some  work  I  want  to  do  and 
don't  seem  to  settle  down  to  it  in  town." 

"  But  is  Brighton  any  better  for  work?  "  Mrs. 
West  said,  as  she  snuggled  down  into  her  corner 
and  drew  her  furs  closely  round  her.  Maddi- 
son thought  she  looked  all  the  prettier  for  her 
frailty. 

"I'm  not  going  to  Brighton,"  he  answered; 
"  I've  got  a  cottage  over  at  Rottingdean,  two 
rooms  and  a  kitchen.  I'm  going  to  settle  down 
there  for  a  bit." 

"  How  nice !  We  can  run  over  in  the  motor, 
and  you  can  begin  my  portrait  right  away.  Will 
you?" 


152  THE    PEST 

West  laughed,  hoping  that  the  direct  ques- 
tion would  embarrass  Maddison,  who  replied 
promptly : 

"  That  will  do  splendidly,  if  you're  stopping 
long  enough." 

"  We  will  stop  long  enough.  I'm  so  glad  to 
have  an  excuse  for  not  going  back  too  soon. 
The  country's  stupid  in  the  winter  and  Brighton's 
jolly,  although  Philip  did  try  to  grumble  about 
coming." 

"  '  Try '  is  the  word,"  rejoined  West,  biting 
the  end  of  his  cigar;  "  try!  When  you  get  mar- 
ried, Maddison,  you'll  remember  that  little  word 
'  try.'  " 

"  Don't  be  naughty,  Philip,"  said  Mrs. 
West,  pouting.  "  You  know  you  always 
have  your  own  way,  except  about  grumbling. 
Life's  too  short  for  grumbling,  isn't  it,  Mr. 
Maddison?" 

"  Much.  Your  husband  as  a  business  man 
ought  to  know  better  than  to  waste  his 
time." 

"  What  a  prosaic  view  to  take  1  "  Mrs.  West 
answered.  "  He  ought  to  leave  business  behind 
him  in  the  office  and  just  waste  his  time  when 
he's  at  home.  But  all  men  are  prosaic,  I 
think." 

"  And  all  women  are — ?  "  asked  West. 


THE    PEST  153 

"  Just  what  you  like  to  make  them,"  his  wife 
replied.  "  That's  the  worst  of  it — what  we  are 
depends  on  what  you  are." 

"What  do  you  say  to  such  views,  Alice?" 
West  said,  appealing  to  Miss  Lane,  who  was  look- 
ing out  of  the  window  at  the  miles  of  dreary  sub- 
urbs flying  by. 

"  Nothing !  "  she  answered.  "  You  know  I 
never  theorize  about  things.  What's  the  use 
of  it?" 

"  Practical,  steady,  unemotional  Alice !  " 
laughed  Mrs.  West;  but  Maddison  knew  better, 
for  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  look  of  contemptu- 
ous scorn  before  Miss  Lane  turned  away  again  to 
the  window. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  put  up  ?  "  Maddison 
asked. 

"  At  the  Metropole,  it's  amusing,"  answered 
Mrs.  West.  "  You  must  come  in  and  dine 
with  us." 

"  Maddison  hates  big  hotels,"  said  West. 

"  Big  anything,"  interjected  Maddison,  "  except 
when  Nature  provides  them.  Most  of  men's  big 
things  are  vulgar  failures.  London,  for  example, 
you  needn't  go  farther." 

"  Is  a  bad  example,"  rejoined  West.  "  That 
example  won't  prove  your  point:  just  the  oppo- 
site. On  the  whole,  London  is  a  success;  it's  the 


iS4  THE    PEST 

most  comfortable,  most  luxurious  and  most  beau- 
tiful city  in  the  world." 

"  And  the  most  comfortless,  most  squalid,  and 
most  ugly,"  said  Maddison.  "  That's  where  Lon- 
don is  such  a  dismal  failure ;  she's  just  like  a  horse 
with  an  uncertain  temper:  one  moment  an  angel, 
the  next  a  devil." 

"  Or  you  can  put  it  another  way  and  draw 
another  conclusion;  London  has  just  that  charm 
which  belongs  to  a  woman — you're  never  quite 
certain  of  her — at  least  if  she's  worth  bothering 
about.  It  may  be  a  scratch,  it  may  be  a  kiss." 

"  I  don't  like  your  talking  that  way,  Phil,"  said 
Mrs.  West;  "  you  know  you  don't  mean  it." 

"  It'd  be  too  stupid  if  we  only  said,  what  we 
meant;  most  of  us  mean  such  commonplaces." 

Mrs.  West  picked  up  a  magazine,  and  neither 
of  the  men  feeling  inclined  to  talk,  the  conversa- 
tion droppd. 

West  was  glad  of  Maddison's  company  and 
pleased  that  he  was  to  be  a  neighbor.  The  por- 
trait-painting would  occupy  some  of  that  time 
which  Agatha  found  weighing  so  heavy  on  her 
hands,  and  would  relieve  him  from  being  always 
called  upon  to  lighten  her  burden  and  to  listen  to 
her  complaints.  He  had  been  accustomed  for 
years  past  to  have  his  own  way  with  those  around 
him,  and  the  women  with  whom  he  had  chiefly 


THE    PEST  155 

mixed  had  been  those  who  must  please  to  live. 
Now  and  again  he  had  felt  the  need  for  a  settled 
home  and  had  vaguely  contemplated  matrimony. 
But  the  idea  had  not  crystallized  until  last  spring 
he  had  met  Agatha,  who  seemed  to  offer  him  all 
that  he  wanted  in  a  wife — good  looks,  good 
temper,  good  nature.  The  love-making  had  been 
quick  and  strong;  the  engagement  brief.  Now, 
a  few  months  after  their  marriage,  he  was  be- 
ginning to  understand  the  nature  of  his  acquisi- 
tion wholly  he  thought,  forgetting  that  a  man 
has  never  yet  entirely  understood  a  woman  any 
more  than  any  woman  has  entirely  understood  a 
man.  We  set  out  to  judge  others  by  their 
motives,  which  we  hope  to  trace  from  their 
actions,  but  half  of  what  we  do  in  life  is  purpose- 
less, merely  impulsive,  and  the  other  half  unin- 
tentional. It  was  West's  dangerous  pride  to  feel 
convinced  that  he  owned  the  gift  of  seeing  into 
the  hearts  and  souls  of  men  and  women.  He 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  good  looks  were 
all  his  wife's  endowment,  and  that  the  good  nature 
would  not  stand  against  the  test  of  self-sacrifice 
in  any  degree  however  small,  and  that  the  good 
temper  was  not  proof  against  disappointment  and 
contradiction.  Once  or  twice  lately  she  had  asked 
him  for  extravagances  which  he  told  her  he 
considered  unnecessary,  which  when  she  pressed 


156  THE    PEST 

him  he  said  he  could  not  afford,  his  means  not 
being  limitless.  He  did  not  add  that  at  the 
moment  it  would  have  been  more  correct  to  say 
that  his  income  was  by  no  means  so  large  as  the 
world  believed  it  to  be,  one  or  two  speculations 
having  turned  out  considerable  losses.  He  was 
not  embarrassed  as  yet,  but  the  next  few  months 
would  be  full  of  anxiety,  with  another  brilliant 
success  or  a  startling  failure  at  the  end  of  them. 
He  had  never  before  felt  any  desire  to  share  his 
business  worries  with  anyone,  had  never,  in  fact, 
had  anyone  with  whom  he  was  tempted  to  do  so, 
but  now  to  a  certain  degree  it  irritated  him  to  know 
that  if  he  had  desired  to  confide  in  Agatha  it  would 
lead  to  no  good  result;  the  mere  fact  that  she 
was  not  his  helpmeet  made  him  wish  for  such  an 
one. 

Maddison  parted  with  the  Wests  at  Brighton 
Station,  and  having  confided  his  luggage  and 
paraphernalia  to  the  carrier  who  had  driven  in  to 
meet  him,  set  forth  on  foot  for  Rottingdean. 
The  air  was  crisper,  fresher  here  than  it  had  been 
in  London,  and  as  he  strode  along  the  broad 
pathway  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  drinking  in  the 
salt  breeze,  he  felt  that  he  would  have  been 
perfectly  content  had  only  Marian  been  by  his 
side. 

Then  his  thoughts  turned  to  the  Wests.     The 


THE    PEST  157 

man  was  strong  and  could  take  care  of  himself, 
but  he  was  sorry  for  Agatha.  There  was  to  him 
something  pathetic  in  her  foolish,  pretty  helpless- 
ness, the  pathos  that  there  is  in  a  dumb  beast's 
futile  efforts  to  understand  a  world  that  is  beyond 
his  ken.  He  knew  now  that  he  could  paint  her 
portrait,  not  in  the  jeering  spirit  he  had  in- 
tended, but  so  that  he  would  show  in  the  pretty 
face  the  struggling  of  a  soul  unborn.  Would  it 
ever  see  the  light  of  life?  Perhaps  better  not, 
he  thought;  souls  suffer  more  keenly  than  mere 
clay. 

He  paused  when  he  had  left  the  houses  some 
way  behind,  and  looked  out  over  the  white-flecked 
sea,  boundless,  apparently,  save  for  the  distant 
bank  of  mist  that  crept  treacherously  along; 
away  to  the  right  the  dun  cloud  of  smoke  over 
the  town;  behind  him  the  rolling  downs;  to  the 
left,  Rottingdean,  nestling  down  in  its  cradle; 
and  before  him  the  white-flecked  sea.  No  living 
being  in  sight,  yet  thousands  so  near.  He  felt 
lonely,  and  there  swept  over  him  a  passionate 
longing  for  Marian,  to  have  her  standing  with 
her  hand  in  his,  looking  out  with  him  over  the 
white-flecked  sea;  they  two  together,  what  would 
it  matter  then  if  there  were  no  other  living  soul 
in  the  world?  It  took  all  his  will  to  master  his 
impulse  to  retrace  his  steps,  and  to  go  straight 


158  THE    PEST 

back  to  town.  Could  he  endure  the  staying 
down  here?  Could  he  wait  even  the  few  days 
he  had  promised  to  remain  before  going  up  to 
see  her?  Where  was  she  at  this  moment?  What 
was  she  doing?  Was  she,  perhaps,  thinking  of 
him? 

He  remembered  so  well  the  building  of  the 
cottage — how  clearly  its  white  walls  stood  out 
against  the  green  background  of  the  downs,  and 
how  pleasantly  the  months  had  slipped  away  when 
he  stayed  there  the  last  summer;  he  almost  dreaded 
now  to  go  on  and  to  cross  its  threshold;  it  would 
be  so  dreary  and  so  empty. 

With  a  half  laugh,  he  shook  himself  free  from 
these  oppressive  thoughts,  and  hurried  along  down 
the  chalky  road  into  the  village,  where  many 
homely  acquaintances  greeted  him  warmly,  ex- 
pressing surprise  at  his  visiting  them  at  such  a 
time  of  the  year. 

Mrs.  Witchout,  who  "  did  "  for  him,  stood  on 
the  doorstep  ready  to  greet  him.  She  was  an 
abnormally  tall,  abnormally  thin,  abnormally 
pinched-faced  and  red-nosed  woman,  which  bea- 
con was  a  libel  upon  her  teetotal  principles  and 
practice. 

"  The  fire's  burnin'  nicerly,  and  your  luggidge's 
all  piled  upinaheap,"  said  Mrs.  Witchout,  in  her 
piping  voice,  which  came  startlingly  as  would  the 


THE    PEST  159 

note  of  a  penny  whistle  from  a  lengthy  organ 
pipe.  "  I  didn't  like  to  sort  it  out  not  knowin'- 
whatswhat." 

Mrs.  Witchout's  most  remarkable  gift  was  a 
breathless  way  of  running  two  or  three  words  into 
one,  which  was  not  only  astonishing  but  often 
perplexing. 

"  That's  all  right,  Mrs.  Witchout.  How  are 
you?" 

"  I'm  myself,  which  comes  to  the  same  as  say- 
in'  I'm  middlin';  w'en  I  ain't  got  a  cold  in  the 
'ead  I'm  sure  to  have  a  blister  on  my  'eel,  but 
I  managesterfergitit  by  not  thinkin'  abart  my- 
self. Ain't  you  'ungry,  sir?  I  do  'ope  so.  I've 
got  two  sich  nice  chops,  pertaties,  cabidgeanda 
cheese." 

"Hungry!  I  should  say  I  ami  The  walk 
across  the  cliffs  is  better  than  any  pick-me-up  in 
the  world.  So  on  with  the  chops  and  out  with  the 
cheese." 

The  north  end  of  the  cottage  was  occupied  by 
one  large  room,  lit  by  a  long  lattice  window  and 
a  skylight  above;  a  passage  ran  from  the  front 
door  right  through  to  the  back,  and  on  the  south 
there  were  two  floors,  the  lower  half  kitchen, 
half  sitting  room,  the  upper  a  bedroom  reached 
by  a  narrow  stair  from  the  passage.  A  snug 
nest  Maddison  had  thought  it,  but  despite  the 


160  THE    PEST 

bright  fires  in  studio  and  kitchen  and  Mrs. 
Witchout's  warm  welcome,  there  was  a  sense  of 
desolateness  about  the  place  that  hurt  him.  He 
carried  his  portmanteau  up  to  the  bedroom,  un- 
strapped it,  then  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed  and  looked  out  of  the  open  window,  through 
which  the  breeze  came  cool  and  crisp.  There 
lay  the  sea,  spread  out  like  a  great,  gray  drugget, 
and  in  the  distance  the  gathering  fog.  It  was 
dreary. 

"  Chopson  the  table!"  Mrs.  Witchout  called 
up  the  stairs.  "  Wat'llyoudrink?  Beer?  " 

"  Beer  will  do  Ai !  " 

Again  Maddison  tried  to  shake  himself  free  of 
his  oppression,  and  ran  down  the  stairs. 

"You're  a  brick,  Mrs.  Witchout:  chops  and 
cheese  and  beer !  Here  goes !  " 

Mrs.  Witchout  tucked  her  hands  under  her 
apron  and  looked  on  approvingly  as  he  set  to 
vigorously. 

"Brick!"  she  said  meditatively.  "Now  I 
wonders  could  you  explain  w'ytheycall  pussons 
4  bricks  '  ?  It's  meant  a  complimentapparently, 
but  I  don't  see  'ow:  bricks  bein'  'ardandangular, 
which  I  'ope  I  ain't  either.  Perhaps  it  alludes  to 
being  full  baked.  Wot  do  you  think,  sir?  " 

"  I  think  it's  a  very  interesting  question  and 
that  this  is  excellent  beer.  I  hope  it  doesn't  ruin 


THE    PEST  161 

your  reputation  as  a  teetotaler  your  purchasing 
beer?" 

"  It's  a  poor  sort  of  repitation  as  wouldn't 
stand  a  dozen  of  bassordered  forsomeoneelse. 
Not  that  people  don't  talk  when  they've  got  no 
reason  for  to  do  so.  If  people  only  opened  their 
mouths  when  there  was  somethin'  worth  comin' 
out  to  come  out  most  folks  would  go  aboutwi' 
their  mouths  shut.  We  didn't  expect  you  down 
afore  the  springtime  anyway,  but  I  keeps  every- 
thing ready,  as  you  toldmeto,  and  pleasant  nice 
work  it  is  lookin'  arter  'm.  Stoppin'  long, 
sir?  " 

"  A  month  or  so,  if  you  don't  get  too  tired 
of  me." 

Mrs.  Witchout  smiled  broadly,  as  who  should 
say  that  the  impossible  had  been  mentioned. 

After  lunch,  leaving  Mrs.  Witchout  to  wash 
up  and  set  things  tidy  and  ready  for  tea, 
Maddison  devoted  his  energies  to  unpacking 
and  putting  everything  in  order.  He  took 
"  The  Rebel "  from  its  packing-case,  and  set  it 
up  on  an  easel,  and  sat  down  before  it.  It  was 
a  good  picture  and  he  knew  it,  but  he  knew  also 
how  much  better  he  had  meant  it  to  be.  In  the 
waning  afternoon  light  the  unfinished  portions 
scarcely  showed;  there  sat  Marian,  the  rebel, 
the  queen  of  rebels,  bright,  beautiful — his,  "  The 


i62  THE    PEST 

Rebel!"  Should  he  paint  a  companion  picture? 
— Marian  sitting  by  the  fireside — here  in  his 
cottage  studio — the  light  of  love  in  her  eyes. 
He  looked  across  at  the  empty  chair,  a  fellow 
of  one  that  she  often  sat  in  at  home — there  she 
was  visible,  to  his  mind's  eye,  sitting  there,  gra- 
cious and  lovely — his  and  his  only. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE  next  morning  all  trace  of  mist  on  the  dis- 
tant sea  had  vanished,  but  though  the  sun  shone 
splendidly,  the  air  still  bit  shrewdly.  West  rose 
with  the  spirit  of  discontent  in  him,  breakfasted 
early  and  alone,  then  set  out  to  walk  to  Rotting- 
dean.  Maddison,  palette  in  hand,  answered  the 
knock  at  the  door. 

"Hullo!  The  early  bird  does  the  work," 
said  West.  "  May  I  come  in  and  talk  while  you 
paint?  " 

"  Come  along.  You're  a  fairly  early  bird  too. 
There  are  cigars  and  cigarettes  over  there,  and  an 
unopened  bottle  of  whisky  and  a  siphon  in  the 
locker  by  the  window." 

West  took  a  cigar,  and  then  wandered  aim- 
lessly about  the  room,  while  Maddison  worked 
at  "  The  Rebel." 

"  Ah !  My  picture !  "  exclaimed  West,  look- 
ing over  his  shoulder.  "  It's  the  best  thing  you've 
ever  done,  Maddison.  Won't  the  critics  fight 
over  it.  You  hit  on  a  thundering  good  model 
for  it." 

"  Your    picture  1       I    didn't    promise    to    let 
163 


1 64  THE    PEST 

you  have  it.  I'm  doubtful  if  I  shall  sell  it  at 
all." 

"  Oh !  "  said  West,  with  a  queer  intonation, 
"  I  didn't  know  you  ever  felt  that  way  about 
your  work.  I  thought  you  laughed  at  art  for 
art's  sake,  and  all  that  damned  nonsense,  and 
preached  that  the  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire 
—eh?" 

"  As  a  rule.  But — somehow  this  has  got  hold 
of  me." 

"Or — the  pretty  model — eh?  Well,  I  envy 
you ;  you're  a  lucky  devil.  What's  the  poor  curate 
say?  Or  is  he  guilty  of  the  ignorance  which  is 
bliss?" 

Maddison  bit  his  lips;  this  raillery  which  before 
would  have  amused  him,  now  made  him  angry. 
He  felt  that  the  best  way  to  put  an  end  to  it  would 
be  to  speak  outright  and  to  show  that  he  did  not 
like  West's  tone. 

"  Her  husband  does  know.  The  facts  are  just 
these,  West.  Mrs.  Squire  has  left  her  husband; 
it  was  a  far  from  happy  marriage.  He's  High 
Church  or  something  and  won't  give  her  a  divorce. 
So — we  have  to  make  the  best  of  it.  I  think  it 
right  you  should  know  exactly  how  matters  stand, 
as  she  may,  in  fact,  will,  be  coming  down  here, 
and  your  wife  may  chance  to  meet  her  with  me." 

"  Oh,  Agatha  isn't  a  prig.    Nor  is  Alice." 


THE    PEST  165 

"Alice?" 

"  Miss  Lane." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  forgot  that  was  her  Christian  name. 
So  now  you  understand  why  I  may  not  wish  to 
part  with  this  picture.  If  anyone  has  it  it  shall 
be  you,  if  you  don't  change  your  mind.'* 

"  Change  my  mind!  It's  not  a  thing  I  used 
often  to  do,  but  I  seem  always  to  be  at  it  now.  I 
meant  to  go  up  to  town  this  morning,  but  didn't. 
If  I'd  intended  to  come  here,  ten  to  one  I  should 
have  run  up  to  town.  I'm  too  young  to  be  grow- 
ing old,  but  I  feel  deuced  old  all  the  same,  at 
times." 

He  was  again  strolling  vaguely  about  the  room, 
now  pausing  to  look  at  a  sketch,  now  glancing 
out  of  the  window  at  the  undulating  stretch  of 
green  down. 

"  You  look  just  as  young  as  the  first  day  I 
met  you,"  he  continued;  "haven't  changed  a 
hair.  I  suppose  it's  care  that  kills  men  as  well  as 
cats.  There's  more  real  care  in  a  successful  career 
than  in  a  failure.  A  small  shopkeeper  can't  lose 
much,  and  doesn't  run  many  risks.  Now  I — 
why,  good  Lord!  I  may  go  bust — sky  high 
— any  day.  Big  business  is  all  a  big  gamble,  the 
margin  between  a  huge  profit  and  a  huge  loss  is 
so  small — a  puff  of  wind,  and  over  you  go  on 
the  money  side.  Now  you — you're  above  fate 


166  THE    PEST 

now;  you're  known;  competition  can  never  touch 
you ;  the  speculation  is  entirely  on  the  part  of  those 
who  buy  your  pictures.  In  a  hundred  years  they 
may  be  worth  thousands  or  nothing.  Yes,  you're 
a  lucky  devil." 

"  Luck.    Do  you  believe  in  luck?  " 

"  Luck?  It's  the  only  real  thing  in  the  world. 
lit  rules  the  world!  Believe  in  it?  Of  course  I 
do.  I  shouldn't  ever  have  been  anything  more 
than  a  small  shopkeeper  if  I  hadn't  been  lucky. 
I  inherited  a  tiny  corner  shop  in  a  back  street; 
fate — or  the  Metropolitan  Board  of  Works — de- 
cided to  drive  a  new  thoroughfare  past  my  place. 
Wasn't  that  luck?  Isn't  marriage  all  a  matter 
of  luck?  What  man  can  know  anything  at  all 
about  his  wife,  until  she  is  his  wife  and  free  to 
show  him  her  real  self?  Luck!  I  never  trust 
the  man  who  sneers  at  luck  and  talks  about  the 
reward  of  honest  labor;  he's  a  liar  or  a  fool,  both 
equally  bad  to  deal  with  in  business." 

"  I  don't  believe  in  luck.  Which  am  I,  knave 
or  fool?" 

"  Oh,  you're  an  artist,  and  the  artistic  tempera- 
ment covers  a  multitude  of  eccentricities." 

The  hooting  of  a  motor-horn  drew  him  to  the 
window  again,  from  which  a  glimpse  of  the  road 
could  be  seen. 

"  Hullo !    Here's  Alice  and  Agatha,  early  birds 


THE    PEST  167 

too.  But  she's  come  to  bully  you  into  starting  the 
portrait.  Are  you  going  to  do  it?  " 

"Yes.    Why  not?" 

He  put  down  his  palette,  took  the  picture  off 
the  easel  and  set  it  in  a  corner  with  its  face  to  the 
wall,  and  then  went  out  to  welcome  his  guests, 
followed  by  West. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Maddison,  I  do  hope  you  don't 
mind  my  having  come,"  said  Mrs.  West,  leaning 
from  the  car,  and  holding  out  her  small,  daintily 
gloved  hand.  "  May  I  come  in?  I  want  to  talk 
business." 

"  Delighted,  Mrs.  West.  Good  morning,  Miss 
Lane." 

"  I  guessed  you'd  come  here,  Phil,"  Mrs.  West 
went  on,  as  Maddison  helped  her  to  alight,  "  but 
you're  not  to  stay.  You  take  Alice  for  a  spin  and 
then  come  back  for  us.  Perhaps  Mr.  Maddison 
will  come  back  to  lunch  with  us?  " 

Maddison  accepted  the  invitation,  and  West 
climbed  into  the  car. 

Mrs.  West  and  Maddison  watched  them  till  a 
turn  in  the  road  put  them  out  of  sight. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Maddison,  do  take  me  into  your 
studio.  I  want  you  to  tell  me,  seriously,  will  you 
paint  my  portrait?  Phil  tells  me  I  should  look 
on  it  as  a  great  compliment  if  you  do.  I  like 
compliments,  don't  you?  " 


168  THE    PEST 

"  Of  course  I  do,  everyone  does;  even  when  I 
know  they  are  undeserved;  it's  pleasant  to  be  able 
to  please  people,  and  only  people  who  are  pleased 
pay  compliments  worth  having." 

"  What  a  jolly  room !  "  Mrs.  West  exclaimed, 
as  she  sat  down  and  looked  round  critically. 
"  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  anything  really  unu- 
sual about  it,  except  the  swords  and  daggery 
things  on  the  wall,  but  it  looks  quite  different  to 
other  studios.  Now,  will  you  paint  my  portrait, 
Mr.  Maddison?  " 

"  I  will,  with  pleasure,  if  you'll  let  me  paint  it 
my  own  way.  I  always  make  that  condition." 

"  I  want  to  be  painted  just  as  I  am.  I  don't 
want  to  be  flattered:  I  really  mean  that." 

"  I'm  glad  you  do,  for — that's  my  way.  Please 
sit  straight  up  in  that  chair,  and  look  at  me,  so — 
yes,  that's  it.  I  shan't  keep  you  in  that  pose  long 
at  a  time,  and  I  shan't  do  much  this  morning, 
just  rough  in  the  head  and  figure  if  I  can — if  I'm 
in  the  mood.  I  never  know  whether  I  am  or  not 
till  I  begin  to  work." 

44  May  I  talk?" 

"  Not  for  a  few  minutes — just  look  straight  at 
me — so." 

For  some  ten  minutes  he  worked  rapidly  and 
surely,  pausing  every  now  and  again  to  examine 
her  face  intently.  Only  in  the  eyes  lay  anything 


THE    PEST  169 

of  character,  and  from  them  looked  out,  so  he 
thought,  not  only  the  struggling  soul  he  expected 
to  see,  but  a  rebellious  discontent. 

"  Now  you  can  do  what  you  like  for  a  time, 
Mrs.  West,  and  talk  to  me  if  you'll  be  so  good — 
but  you  mustn't  expect  me  to  answer  much — I'll 
go  on  working." 

She  did  not,  however,  leave  the  chair,  but  re- 
laxing her  upright  attitude,  sank  back,  and  watched 
him  steadily. 

"  Have  you  known  Phil  long,  Mr.  Maddison?  " 
she  asked  suddenly. 

"  Yes,  off  and  on,  for  years." 

"  Has  he  changed  much  since  you  first  knew 
him?" 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so.  He  was  always  much 
the  same." 

"  He  seems  to  me  to  have  changed  a  lot  since 
— we  were  married.  Or  perhaps  I  knew  nothing 
of  him  then — and  am  only  getting  to  know  him 
now.  I  suppose  everybody  knows  all  about  me  the 
minute  they  meet  me.  I  know  you  won't  want 
to  answer — but  isn't  that  so?  " 

"  It's  a  common  mistake  to  think  that  one  can 
know  much  about  anyone  until  one  has  known 
them  intimately  a  long  time — and  then  the  much 
— isn't  much.  I've  sometimes  thought — at  least 
I  used  to  do  so— that  I  had  put  all  a  sitter's  char- 


iyo  THE    PEST 

acter  upon  my  canvas,  but  now  I  know  better. 
The  face  tells  everything,  if  only  one  can  read  all 
its  lines." 

"  I  wonder  what  you  read  in  my  face?  " 

"  What  I  think  I  see  there,  I  shall  try  to  paint 
— and  then,  why,  then,  no  one  may  be  able 
to  see  in  my  painting  what  I  have  tried  to  put 
there." 

"Not  even  I?" 

"  Probably  you  least  of  all." 

"  Perhaps  you're  right.  I  do  fancy  I  don't 
know  much  about  myself.  I  used  to  think  every- 
body liked  me — "  she  hesitated  and  then  turned 
toward  the  window,  keeping  silent  for  a  time. 

"  I  suppose  you  look  at  people's  faces  in  quite 
a  different  way  to  what  other  people  do,  Mr.  Mad- 
dison?  "  she  said  after  a  while. 

"  At  any  rate  I  think  I  do.  If  a  face  seems  to 
have  a  story  to  tell,  I  like  to  read  it.  But  most 
faces  are  masks  to  empty  heads." 

She  again  kept  silent,  then  stood  up. 

"  May  I  come  and  see  how  you're  getting  on?  " 

"  Not  yet,  please — I'd  rather  you  waited  until 
I've  finished;  I  can't  work  if  I'm  watched." 

She  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  room,  her 
thoughts  evidently  intent  upon  something  of  which 
she  desired  but  hesitated  to  speak. 

"  Is  Alice  Lane's  face   a  mask  to  an   empty 


THE    PEST  171 

head? "  she  asked  suddenly,  looking  at  him' 
keenly. 

The  question  startled  him,  and  he  hesitated  how 
he  should  answer  it,  making  absorption  in  his  work 
his  excuse  for  not  immediately  replying. 

"  Miss  Lane's — eh?  Oh — no,  I  should  say  she 
has  a  very  decided  character." 

"  A  strong  character,  you  mean?  " 

"  Ye-es — you  might  put  it  that  way." 

"  She  loves  my  husband." 

"Mrs.  West!" 

"  Oh,  of  course  that's  an  extraordinary  thing 
for  me  to  say  to  anybody,  especially  to  you,  who 
I  don't  really  know.  But  I  must  speak  to  some- 
one, and  I've  no  relations  and  no  real  friend — 
unless  you'll  be  one." 

Maddison  left  the  easel,  and  went  across  the 
room  to  where  she  was  standing  by  the  window. 

"  Mrs.  West,  take  my  advice :  don't  tell  me 
any  more,  and  don't  ask  me  anything.  I — 
don't  see  how — I  know  that  I  can't  help  you " 

"  You  won't  help  me?  "  she  asked,  disappoint- 
ment in  her  tone.  "  You  won't?  I — thought  you 
would." 

"  Not  won't — can't" 

"  How  can  you  tell?  I've  not  really  told  you 
anything  yet." 

"  You've  told  me  enough  for  me  to  be  able, 


172  THE    PEST 

more  or  less,  to  guess  the  rest — and  I'm  sure  that 
there  is  only  one  person  in  the  world  that  can  really 
help  you — you  must  help  yourself." 

"  That's  so  easy  to  say.  I  don't  know  how.  I 
don't  know  how." 

She  sank  down  upon  the  window  seat,  burying 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  sobbing  in  a  quiet,  child- 
ish fashion.  Intense  pity  for  this  helpless,  weak 
woman  touched  him,  but  he  knew  that  her  only 
real  chance  of  salvation  in  this  world  was  for  her 
to  find  herself  through  suffering,  and  that  if  she 
continued  to  depend  upon  any  other  for  support, 
she  would  never  be  strong  enough  to  stand  alone. 
He  did  not  speak  until  she  raised  her  face,  and  her 
sobbing  had  almost  died  away. 

"  Of  course  you  will  think  me  very  hard-hearted 
and  brutal,  Mrs.  West,"  he  said,  "  but  I  must  risk 
that.  If  things  are  going  wrong,  you  must  help 
yourself.  The  only  thing  I  can  do  is  to  tell  you 
that  from  what  I  know  of  your  husband,  he  would 
love  his  wife  to  be  as  strong  and  self-dependent  as 
himself.  Now,  please  go  back  to  your  chair,  and 
sit  as  you  were  at  first." 

His  heart  was  full  of  sympathy  for  the  weak, 
little  woman,  so  pretty,  so  vain,  so  helpless.  There 
was  little  chance,  he  felt  sure,  that  she  would  ever 
develop  into  strength,  or  that  she  would  retain  her 
husband's  affection,  if  Alice  Lane — quiet,  deter- 


THE    PEST  173 

mined,  and  very  passionate  as  he  believed  her  to  be 
— were  bent  on  winning  it.  West's  restless  man- 
ner and  talk  had  shown  that  something  was  amiss. 
The  old  story — the  vessel  of  porcelain  and  the 
vessel  of  iron.  She  a  joy  to  him  so  long  as  she 
continued  to  amuse  and  please,  but  thrown  aside 
broken,  when  her  charm  had  gone.  Maddison  had 
foreseen  some  such  event  as  this,  but  had  not 
thought  that  she  would  suffer  greatly,  or  at  any 
rate,  for  a  length  of  time,  taking  her  to  be  one 
who  would  be  content  with  luxuries  and  pretty 
things.  But  he  realized  now  that  there  was  a 
depth  of  affection  in  her,  childish  perhaps,  but  none 
the  less  deep,  which  might  lead  to  tragedy,  if  West 
turned  her  out  of  his  life.  But  he  knew  that  he 
was  helpless  to  assist:  West  was  masterful  and 
ruthless;  the  pity  of  it  was  that  he  had  been  so 
blind  as  not  to  see  that  this  simple  child  could  not 
long  content  him. 

He  scarcely  dared  look  at  the  pitiable  face  that 
he  must  truly  reproduce  upon  his  canvas.  Could 
he  allow  anyone  save  herself  to  see  this  portrait 
of  an  unhappy  woman  ? 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  perhaps  he  was 
unduly  apprehensive;  that  after  all,  his  first  sur- 
mise might  be  correct,  and  that  when  she  had 
ceased  to  cry  for  her  lost  toy,  she  would  dry  her 
eyes  and  be  happy  with  something  more  costly  and 


174  THE    PEST 

less  valuable  than  human  love.  At  any  rate,  there 
was  no  aid  that  he  could  render;  the  tragedy,  or 
the  comedy,  must  play  itself  out,  with  himself 
among  the  spectators. 

Before  he  had  released  her,  the  other  two  re- 
turned. 

"Come  along,"  shouted  West;  "it's  getting 
late.  We  won't  come  in." 

As  they  were  leaving  the  studio,  Mrs.  West 
held  out  her  hand  to  Maddison,  saying: 

"  Thank  you.  You  said  you  couldn't  help  me 
— but  you  have." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

PROBABLY  Maddison  alone  knew  that  Morti- 
mer was  not  the  empty-hearted  cynic  that  he  wished 
the  world  to  believe  him  to  be.  Mortimer's  ter- 
rible handicap  was  that  his  character  was  for 
the  most  part  a  compound  of  tender-heartedness 
and  shyness.  A  jeer,  a  jest  at  his  expense,  a  snub, 
a  misunderstanding,  a  rebuff  of  proffered  sympathy 
cut  him  to  the  quick,  and  he  had  gradually 
schooled  himself  into  presenting  to  his  friends, 
even  to  those  with  whom  he  was  intimate,  an 
exterior  of  callous  carelessness,  not  realizing  that 
while  by  so  doing  he  would  save  himself  from 
much  pain,  he  would  inevitably  also  deprive  him- 
self of  some  of  the  highest  joys  a  man  can  ex- 
perience. A  true-hearted  woman's  love  would 
have  rescued  him  from  his  error,  but  the  woman 
he  had  loved  had  sold  herself  to  a  Jew  for  dia- 
monds and  a  house  in  Park  Lane.  Living  so 
self-centered  as  he  did,  or  rather  so  self-contained, 
Mortimer's  friends  were  few,  while  his  acquaint- 
ances were  innumerable.  The  one  he  knew  best 
was  George  Maddison,  to  whom  he  was  attached, 
and  attached  not  so  much  because  he  found  in  him 

>7S 


176  THE    PEST 

any  true  comradeship,  but  because  he  felt  for 
him  a  certain  pity.  He  knew  how  much  there 
was  of  splendor  in  Maddison's  nature  and  he 
knew  equally  well  how  much  there  was  of  weak- 
ness. He  looked  upon  him  as  a  fair-weather  sailor, 
a  man  who  delighted  to  rove  over  sunlit,  peace- 
ful seas,  who  loved  to  listen  to  the  voices  of  the 
sirens  and  who,  if  caught  by  Circe's  enchantments, 
might  sink  down  among  the  beasts.  Indeed,  he 
counted  him  very  much  as  a  brilliant,  passionate, 
wayward  child.  So  far  Maddison  had  met  with 
no  storms,  the  wind  had  always  been  fair,  the  sun 
unclouded,  the  sirens  more  attracted  by  him  than 
he  by  them,  but  this  attachment,  this  passion  for 
Marian,  frightened  Mortimer.  An  absorbing 
love  for  a  good  woman  might  have  been  Mad- 
dison's salvation,  but  Marian  was  utterly  bad 
in  his  estimation,  and  he  could  not  perceive 
ahead  anything  save  misery.  That  Marian  would 
not  rest  content  with  Maddison's  love  and  pro- 
tection he  was  assured;  already  she  might  be 
playing  false  to  him;  when  Maddison  discovered 
— as  discover  one  day  he  must — that  he  had 
adored  and  sacrificed  himself  to  a  false  goddess, 
what  would  be  the  outcome?  If  Maddison  had 
been  strong,  the  stinging  lesson  might  prove  a 
purifying  trial;  but — Maddison  being  weak  in  all 
save  his  art  and  his  passion,  what  could  possibly 


THE    PEST  177 

be  the  upshot  but  tragedy?  The  greater  the 
hold  she  gained  upon  him  the  greater  the  disaster. 
It  delighted  Mortimer  that  Maddison  had  left 
town;  at  any  rate  he  would  not  constantly  be 
under  Marian's  spell;  he  might  find  that  Marian 
was  not,  as  he  thought,  entirely  necessary  to  his 
happiness;  absence  might  enable  him  to  see  in 
her  faults  to  which  the  unbroken  charm  of  her 
presence  blinded  him;  he  might  gradually  shake 
himself  free,  gradually  waken  from  dreams  of 
heaven  to  the  realities  of  common  sense.  This 
was  only  a  hope,  however,  and  Mortimer  felt 
impelled  to  do  anything  that  in  him  lay  to  enable 
Maddison  to  regain  his  freedom.  Things  were 
bad,  and  the  lapse  of  time  might,  of  course,  make 
them  worse  instead  of  better.  Cruel  as  would  be 
the  cure,  the  best  and  surest  way  to  liberate 
Maddison  would  be  to  open  his  eyes  to  Marian's 
real  character.  For  her  Mortimer  had  no  sym- 
pathy or  pity;  she  was  merely  one  more  of  those 
mortal  pests  born  to  kill  men,  body,  heart  and 
soul.  Maddison  was  worth  saving  from  her  poi- 
sonous influence.  It  was  not  as  a  prude  that 
Mortimer  judged  the  matter.  He  enjoyed  to  the 
full  the  pleasures  of  the  world  and  of  the  flesh, 
but  Marian  was  a  devouring  devil.  "  Religion 
must  have  been  invented  by  women,"  he  once  said, 
"  for  the  devil  is  always  represented  as  a  man." 


178  THE    PEST 

The  single  point  was  this:  Maddison  firmly 
believed  that  Marian  loved  him;  that  belief  must 
be  shattered;  he  must  be  shown,  with  proof  and 
above  doubt,  that  Marian  loved  herself  only  and 
cared  for  Maddison  simply  because  he  had  enabled 
her  to  shake  herself  free  from  her  husband,  and 
had  provided  her  with  money  and  pleasure. 
Marian  so  far  had  been  very  guarded  in  her  con- 
duct, but  Mortimer  judged  that  there  were  two 
temptations,  to  one  of  which  she  would  succumb, 
if  not  to  both:  a  love  of  power,  and  a  quickly 
growing,  and  in  the  end  probably  overwhelming, 
desire  for  gross  pleasures.  She  was  now  alone; 
probably  eagerly  searching  for  temptation.  The 
matter  was  simple ;  she  must  be  watched. 

So  the  day  of  Maddison's  leaving  for  Brighton, 
Mortimer  went  to  see  his  solicitor,  who  could 
probably,  he  thought,  tell  him  to  whom  it 
would  be  best  to  apply  for  the  work  he  wished 
done. 

"  You  want  some  one  watched,  carefully  and 
discreetly.  Man  or  woman?"  asked  the  placid, 
well-groomed  man  of  law,  who  looked  more  of  a 
prosperous  city  merchant  than  an  astute,  busy 
lawyer. 

"  Does  that  make  any  difference  ?  "  asked  Mor- 
timer. 

"  A  great  deal.    Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief — 


THE    PEST  179 

a  man  to  catch  a  man — a  woman  to  catch  a 
woman." 

"  Well,  it's  a  woman." 

"  H'm,"  said  the  lawyer,  meditatively  looking 
at  his  client.  "What  kind  of  woman?  You 
mustn't  mind  my  asking  all  these  questions.  I 
can't  help  you  if  I  don't  know  something  of  the 
circumstances." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Mortimer,  "  I'm  interfer- 
ing in  a  business  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  me. 
A  friend  of  mine  is  entangled  with  a  woman 
whom  he  believes  to  be  sincerely  fond  of  him. 
/  believe  her  to  be  a  thoroughly  reckless,  bad 
woman.  I  want  to  know." 

"  I  see.  I  think  Davis  will  be  the  best  man  for 
you  to  go  to.  Mention  my  name.  Here's  his 
address." 

"  But  you  said  a  woman?  " 

'  Yes — Davis  will  get  you  one.  I  should  not 
tell  Davis  anything  more  than  that  you  want  this 
woman  watched  and  to  learn  exactly  what  she 
does,  where  she  goes,  whom  she  meets,  and  so 
on." 

"Very  well.    Thank  you." 

Mortimer  was  surprised  at  the  address :  Henry 
William  Davis — Pall  Mall  East;  still  more  sur- 
prised when  he  was  asked  to  wait  in  a  cozily  fur- 
nished sitting  room,  which  had  every  appearance  of 


1 80  THE    PEST 

being  occupied  by  an  ordinary  man  about  town; 
still  more  surprised  by  the  entrance  of  a  slim  man 
of  middle  height,  quietly  but  fashionably  dressed, 
fair-haired  and  blue-eyed. 

"  You  asked  to  see  me?  I'm  Mr.  Davis.  The 
servant  gave  me  your  name  as  Mortimer.  You 
discreetly  did  not  trust  me  with  your  card." 

"  My  name  is  Mortimer.  Mr.  John  Battersea 
— my  solicitor — advised  me  to  obtain  your — help 
— but — "  Mortimer  looked  doubtfully  at  Davis, 
and  then  round  the  room,  with  its  elaborate 
grate  and  overmantel,  the  white  wood  dado,  the 
monochrome  olive-green  walls,  the  heavy  green 
plush  curtains,  the  admirable  etchings  and  en- 
gravings, the  few  pieces  of  choice  silver  and 
china. 

"  Not  exactly  the  kind  of  man  or  room  you 
expected  to  see,  Mr.  Mortimer?  Well,  please 
sit  down;  you  may  be  sure  Battersea  would  not 
have  sent  you  to  the  wrong  place.  Won't  you 
have  a  cigarette?  There  are  matches  beside  you. 
Now — to  business.  You  needn't  tell  me  who  you 
are,  I  know  you  well  by  sight  and  reputation. 
Well?" 

He  spoke  in  a  slow,  soft  voice,  which  was  not 
m  any  way  weak,  but  on  the  contrary  impressed 
the  hearer  with  the  conviction  that  he  was  a  man 
of  quiet,  firm  determination. 


THE    PEST  181 

"  My  business  is  very  simple,  and  I  was  told 
you  could  get  it  carried  out  for  me.  I  want  a 
woman  watched;  I  want  to  know  what  she  does, 
where  she  goes  and  with  whom — in  fact  all  you 
can  find  out  about  her." 

"  That's  simple  enough.  What  kind  of  wom- 
an? Respectable,  or  apparently  so,  or  disrep- 
utable?" 

"  Disreputable,  I  believe.  Her  name's  Marian 
Squire;  she's  living  apart  from  her  husband; 
there's  her  address." 

"  Very  well.  I'll  have  her  watched  and  report 
to  you  daily  or  weekly,  as  you  prefer.  That's 
all?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  as  I  said,  very  simple.  Do  you  merely 
wish  for  information?  Or  for  evidence  as  well? 
I  mean,  will  the  case  be  likely  to  appear  in 
court?  " 

"  No.  I  merely  want  trustworthy  information 
for  my  own  use,"  Mortimer  answered. 

"  Very  well.  I  can  promise  to  obtain  it  for 
you.  You  want  me  to  tell  you  all  I  can  find  out 
about  this  woman.  That's  the  long  and  short  of 
it.  Nothing  more?  Then — good  morning." 

For  a  few  minutes  after  Mortimer  had  gone, 
Mr.  Davis  stood  before  the  fire,  quietly  smoking 
his  cigarette.  Then  he  rang  the  bell  and  told 


1 82  THE   PEST 

the  sedate  manservant  to  ring  for  a  special  mes- 
senger. He  sat  down  at  a  small  writing  table 
standing  by  the  window  and  scribbled  a  note  which 
he  folded  with  deliberation  and  then  put  into  a 
thick  envelope  which  he  carefully  sealed  and  ad- 
dressed to  Mrs.  Ethel  Harding. 

Maddison  had  persuaded  Marian  to  breakfast 
with  him  at  the  studio  on  the  morning  of  his  de- 
parture. They  had  not  heard  or  seen  anything 
more  of  her  husband,  and  Maddison  had  more 
than  once  hinted  his  doubts  as  to  there  being 
any  need  for  the  separation,  suggesting  that  she 
should  go  with  him  to  Rottingdean.  The  mere 
thought  of  this  had  irritated  Marian  beyond  en- 
durance, though  she  concealed  her  feeling  from 
him,  only  urging  that  no  real  change  had  taken 
place  in  the  circumstances  which  had  caused  them 
to  decide  upon  their  plan,  and  she  felt  grateful  to 
Mortimer  when  she  heard  that  his  advice  and 
opinion  accorded  with  hers. 

The  delight  with  which  she  saw  Maddison's 
luggage-laden  cab  turn  the  corner  of  the  street 
soon  gave  way,  as  she  walked  homeward,  to  a 
sense  of  inability  as  to  how  she  could  best  make 
use  of  her  new  liberty.  Pleasure  at  any  cost  was 
her  first  aim  and  requirement.  In  addition  to 
Mortimer  she  had  casually  met  a  few  of  Mad- 


THE    PEST  183 

dison's  more  Bohemian  friends,  but  she  neither 
desired  nor  dared  approach  them.  Mortimer 
was  wealthy,  but  it  would  be  too  risky,  she  counted, 
to  ask  him  for  anything,  though  anything  he  cared 
to  offer  she  was  prepared  to  accept.  Then  there 
was  "  Nosey  "  Geraldstein,  who,  Ethel  Harding 
told  her,  was  most  anxious  to  know  her,  but  she 
did  not  like  him,  and  she  had  not  yet  plumbed  that 
depth  of  callousness  which  makes  a  woman  readily 
render  herself  to  any  man  who  will  purchase  her 
material  pleasures;  she  could  not  yet  content  her- 
self with  the  mere  prose  of  lust ;  she  still  asked  for 
some  remnant  of  poetry,  however  ragged.  There 
remained  Ethel  Harding. 

Passing  by  her  own  door,  she  went  on  up  to  her 
friend's,  where  her  knock  was  answered  by  the 
maid,  who  said  that  Mrs.  Harding  was  not  yet  up. 
But  the  door  of  the  bedroom  standing  ajar,  Mari- 
an's inquiry  had  been  heard,  and  Mrs.  Harding 
called  out: 

"  Come  along  in,  Marian.  I'm  lazy  and  having 
breakfast  in  bed.  Come  in." 

Marian  went  into  the  stuffy  room,  which  was 
dimly  lighted,  the  curtain  being  only  half  drawn 
from  the  window. 

"  Find  a  chair,  my  dear;  throw  those  things  on 
to  the  floor.  My  head's  aching  like  the  devil. 
I  had  a  wild  night  of  it.  Have  something?  I 


1 84  THE    PEST 

tried  a  cup  of  tea,  but  it  tasted  like  sand  and 
water,  so  I'm  indulging  in  a  B.  and  S.  Have 
one?" 

"No,  thanks,  I  couldn't!"  Marian  answered, 
laughing  apologetically. 

"  Couldn't?  Well,  I  used  to  say  that  once 
upon  a  time,"  Mrs.  Harding  replied;  then 
stretching  out  her  shapely,  strong  arms  and 
yawning  desperately:  "  That's  the  worst  of  taking 
a  bit  too  much;  one  feels  dead  beat,  but  can't 
sleep  a  twopenny  wink;  and  you  dream  and  toss 
about,  and  your  mouth  and  tongue  get  so  dry  that 
they  feel  as  if  they  were  cracking  all  over.  But 
the  first  drop  in  the  morning  pulls  one  together  a 
bit.  It  makes  a  lot  of  difference  what's  the 
lotion.  Never  get  squiffy  on  phiz,  my  dear,  it's 
poison.  Stick  to  brandy,  it  doesn't  hang  about  so 
much.  So  Master  George  is  off  to  the  country 
and  you've  got  a  holiday!  What  are  you  going 
to  do  with  it?" 

"  That's  just  what  I  don't  know.  I'm  running 
down  to  Brighton  in  a  few  days,  but  I  don't  want 
to  go  to  sleep  till  then.  I  came  up  to  see  if  you 
could  suggest  anything.  Are  you  free  to-night? 
Couldn't  we  go  somewhere  together?  " 

"  Lots  of  places  if  you  have  any  coppers.  I'm 
cleaned  out.  My  old  man's  away,  I've  spent  all 
he  left  me,  so  I'll  hunt  for  rhino  while  you  hunt 


THE    PEST  185 

for  fun;  sometimes  you  can  manage  to  haul  in 
both,  but  it's  generally  the  stupid  beasts  who 
have  the  cash.  Never  mind,  we'll  trust  to  luck, 
and  if  none  turns  up  you  shall  liquidate  the  bill. 
Now  I'm  going  to  turn  you  out;  just  pull  the 
curtains  to,  like  a  dear,  and  I'll  indulge  in  some 
more  beauty  sleep.  I'll  look  you  up  about  tea- 
time,  and  we  can  talk  over  the  plan  of  campaign. 
Ta-tal" 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  days  passed  slowly  and  disagreeably  for 
Maddison,  the  monotony  broken  only  by  Mrs. 
West's  sittings. 

He  worked  occasionally  at  "  The  Rebel,"  but 
dared  not  touch  the  face  or  hands.  Marian's  ab- 
sence, however,  served  to  increase  her  influence 
over  him  greatly;  he  longed  with  painful  inten- 
sity to  return  to  her;  he  wrote  long  letters  to 
her  daily,  and  chafed  at  the  brevity  of  her  replies, 
though  he  had  not  any  fault  to  find  with  their 
tenor;  she  wrote  affectionately,  warmly,  sending 
messages  of  love  and  again  and  again  expressing 
the  delight  with  which  she  was  looking  forward 
to  seeing  him  again. 

It  had  not  heretofore  been  Maddison's  habit  of 
mind  to  weigh  the  wisdom  of  any  of  his  acts,  or 
to  analyze  any  of  his  emotions.  He  had  been 
frankly  pagan,  the  joy  of  life  was  his  while  it  was 
his  with  little  if  any  alloy  of  pain  or  doubt; 
questions  of  present  action  or  future  conduct  had 
not  occurred  to  him.  His  emotions  with  regard 
to  women  had  not  been  deep;  they  were  a 
beautiful  provision  of  nature  for  adding  beauty 

1 86 


THE    PEST  187 

to  an  already  beautiful  world;  their  voices,  their 
graces,  their  loveliness,  their  caresses  had  charmed 
him,  but  had  never  absorbed  him;  not  one  of 
them  had  ever  attained  to  any  influence  over  him 
until  his  renewed  friendship  with  Marian.  In 
fact,  nature  had  been  his  real  mistress;  when  last 
at  Rottingdean,  for  many  weeks  together  he  had 
led  practically  the  life  of  a  hermit,  working  in 
the  studio  and  rambling  far  and  wide  across  the 
country  or  along  the  coast.  It  was  absolute  joy 
to  him  to  lie  on  his  back,  watching  the  panorama 
of  the  sky;  to  stand  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff, 
looking  out  over  the  sea,  noting  its  subtle  changes 
of  color.  Everything  in  nature,  big  or  little,  was 
lovable  to  him;  the  vast  glory  of  a  blood-red  sun- 
set; the  minute  perfection  of  a  weed;  the  tumult 
and  splendid  power  of  a  storm-smitten  sea;  the 
dewdrops  upon  a  spraying  fern;  the  cold,  clear 
tones  of  sunrise  or  the  trembling  mystery  of 
midday  heat.  No  season  came  amiss  to  him: 
winter,  spring,  summer,  autumn,  there  was  no 
sameness  in  nature,  save  that  of  unadulterated 
beauty. 

But  he  understood  now  that  a  change  had  come 
over  him;  between  him  and  nature  had  come  one 
woman. 

The  weather  was  cold,  with  days  of  biting, 
searching  east  wind;  he  could  not  saunter  about 


i88  THE    PEST 

the  countryside,  but  would  stride  along  at  a  great 
pace.  What  was  it  that  had  come  into  the  fore- 
ground of  every  picture  upon  which  his  eyes 
rested?  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  never 
alone  now — Marian  was  always  with  him,  per- 
sistently whispering  in  his  ear:  "You  love  me — 
you  love  me  I  "  She  had  taken  entire  and  sole  pos- 
session of  him;  round  her  centered  his  every  de- 
sire, every  hope,  every  ambition. 

One  bright  morning  he  stood  at  the  edge  of 
the  cliff,  some  little  distance  from  the  village,  the 
gentle  murmur  of  a  calm  sea  far  below,  and  in 
his  ears  that  weird  muttering  of  vagrant  winds 
which  comes  before  the  breaking  of  a  tempest. 
He  stood  looking  down  on  the  rocks  and  shingle 
far  below,  thinking  of  Marian,  counting  the  num- 
ber of  hours  that  remained  to  pass  before  her 
approaching  visit,  for  it  had  been  arranged  that 
she  should  come  down  soon  for  a  few  days.  Sud- 
denly the  thought  came  into  his  mind  of  the  hor- 
ror of  her  standing  there  beside  him,  of  her  being 
giddy,  of  her  reeling,  and  clutching  at  his  arm, 
missing  her  hold,  falling  down — down — a  shape- 
less mass  on  the  stones  below.  The  horror  of  it 
sickened  him. 

Why  had  this  woman  come  into  his  life?  She 
had  given  him  a  supreme  joy,  the  like  of  which 
he  had  never  even  dreamed  of  before;  but  might 


THE    PEST  189 

not  that  joy  be  too  dearly  purchased  with  the 
price  of  the  contingent  agony  her  love  might 
bring  him  ? 

One  evening  he  went  down  the  village  street, 
down  through  the  gap  to  the  edge  of  the  sea, 
where  the  tumbling  waves  were  bursting  with  sul- 
len roar  and  crash  upon  the  shingle.  The  storm 
that  had  raged  all  the  day  and  the  previous  night 
was  dying  away,  slowly,  as  if  reluctant;  the 
wind  blew  in  fitful  gusts;  the  clouds  scurried 
across  the  moon,  which  shot  down  intermittent 
beams  upon  the  tossing  waters.  His  life,  he 
thought,  had  hitherto  been  calm;  but  now  a  tem- 
pest raged  within  him,  rising  in  strength  day  by 
day,  hour  by  hour,  so  that  there  was  but  one 
thing  in  his  being — love  of  Marian,  that  first,  that 
last,  that  all  in  all.  Away  from  the  thought  of  her 
and  his  passion  for  her  he  could  never  tear  him- 
self; it  was  always  with  him.  When  he  painted, 
there  was  her  face  before  him,  dim  but  insistent. 
Something  of  her  features  seemed  to  creep  even 
into  the  portrait  he  was  painting  of  Agatha  West. 
When  he  read,  the  words  conveyed  no  thought,  no 
sense  to  his  mind;  he  was  thinking  of  her,  won- 
dering where  she  was  and  what  she  was  doing, 
with  whom  if  not  alone.  She  possessed  him,  heart, 
soul  and  body;  he  was  all  hers. 

More   than   once   a   frenzy  of   jealousy   had 


190  THE   PEST 

attacked  him:  did  she  truly  love  him?  Or  was 
she  just  play-acting,  fooling  him,  deceiving  him, 
betraying  him,  laughing  at  him  and  his  blind 
love?  The  impulse  came  on  him  strongly  to  go 
up  to  town,  without  warning  her,  and  to  watch — 
watch,  unseen.  But  he  dared  not;  in  such  a  case, 
he  thought,  ignorance  would  be  bliss  compared 
with  knowledge. 

At  last  dawned  the  wished-for  day  on  which 
Marian  was  to  come.  He  had  lain  tossing  awake 
all  the  night.  Hours  yet  remained  to  be  gotten 
through  somehow  before  he  could  set  out  to  walk 
to  the  station.  After  breakfast  at  nine,  he  set 
about  tidying  the  studio,  filling  the  vases  with 
flowers,  and  setting  "  The  Rebel  "  in  a  place  of 
honor  by  the  window.  Then  in  the  sitting  room 
he  cleared  up  the  litter  of  pipes  and  books,  and 
helped  to  decorate  the  table  for  luncheon. 

At  length  he  felt  that  he  could  linger  no  longer 
indoors,  and  started  out  to  walk  slowly  along  the 
cliffs  toward  Brighton.  There  was  no  stir  in  the 
air,  the  sea  lay  placid,  the  sun  shone  down  as  if 
with  a  promise  of  spring.  He  went  slowly  along, 
his  heart  light  as  a  lad's  when  going  out  to  meet 
his  first  mistress.  He  knew  how  it  would  throb 
when  he  caught  sight  of  her  face.  Would  hers 
do  so  likewise?  He  knew  how  words  would  fail 
him,  and  how  he  would  stammer  out  some  stupid 


THE   PEST  191 

commonplace.  Would  it  be  so  with  her?  He 
knew  how  anxiously  he  would  await  the  train's 
arrival,  how  eagerly  he  would  scan  the  alighting 
passengers,  seeking  her.  Would  it  be  the  same 
with  her  ?  Would  she  look  on  with  indifference  at 
one  and  another  until  her  eyes  met  his?  Then — 
would  hers  light  up  with  the  fire  of  love  ? 

He  reached  the  station  half  an  hour  before  the 
train  was  due,  and  paced  impatiently  up  and  down 
through  the  throng,  cursing  the  clock,  the  hands 
of  which  seemed  to  stand  still.  The  train  at  last 
came  in;  out  of  one  of  the  first  compartments 
stepped  Philip  West,  who  caught  hold  of  Maddi- 
son  as  he  rushed  by. 

"  All  right,  old  chap,  don't  be  in  such  a  hurry. 
I've  had  a  fellow-passenger,  who  knows  you  and 
wants  to  speak  to  you." 

Maddison  checked  himself  impatiently,  yet 
afraid  to  show  his  anger  at  the  interruption.  He 
shook  West's  out-held  hand ;  and  then  looked,  and 
there  was  Marian. 

"  I  met  Mrs.  Squire  at  Victoria,  and  took  charge 
of  her  as  she  was  all  alone.  I  got  her  heaps 
of  magazines  and  papers,  and  books,  and — 
she  did  nothing  but — talk  all  the  way  down.  I 
never  knew  before  how  near  Brighton  is  to 
London." 

Marian  laughed  merrily,   returning  the  dose 


192  THE   PEST 

pressure  of  Maddison's  eager  hand.  How  deli- 
ciously  pretty  she  looked,  he  thought;  how  wildly 
aggravating  that  West  should  be  there. 

"Now  I'm  off;  I've  no  luggage  to  worry 
about,"  said  West.  "  Good-by,  Mrs.  Squire,  and 
thank  you  for  a  very  pleasant  journey.  Good-by, 
Maddison,  see  you  soon." 

West  strode  off  through  the  bustling  crowd. 
Then  everything  vanished  for  Maddison  save 
Marian. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand 
in  his  again.  "  My  dear " 

The  tears  started  into  his  eyes  as  he  strove  in 
vain  to  speak. 

"  My  dear  old  boy!  It's  jolly  to  be  together 
again,  isn't  it?  Come  along.  Take  me  out  of 
this.  We  can't  talk  here." 

Soon  they  were  driving  along  through  the  brisk 
air,  he  seated  opposite  her  so  that  he  might  see  her 
the  better.  * 

"  It  was  luck  meeting  Mr.  West,  wasn't  it? 
He'd  been  up  for  the  night,  and  it  was  much  nicer 
than  traveling  alone." 

"  Bother  West,"  said  Maddison.  "  He's  noth- 
ing. What  about  yourself?  Tell  me  all  about 
yourself." 

"All?  All?  Where  shall  I  begin.  From  the 
moment  you  went  off?  " 


THE    PEST  193 

"  Till  this  minute !  A  few  days  ago !  It  seems 
years  to  me.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from 
rushing  up  to  town  to  see  you." 

"  You  know  I  missed  you  dreadfully,"  she  said, 
leaning  forward  and  resting  her  hand  on  his  knee. 
"  It  was  just  as  bad  for  me  as  for  you.  But 
now  we're  together,  don't  let's  worry  about  what 
has  been;  I've  come  down  to  be  happy,  dear,  to 
be  happy." 

"  Look  here.  We  shall  be  out  of  the  town 
soon.  If  you're  not  tired,  let's  get  out  and  walk 
along  the  cliff.  The  fly  can  take  the  traps  along. 
Shall  we?" 

"  It'd  be  jolly.  I've  been  sitting  all  the  morn- 
ing. What  a  lovely  day !  it  was  foggy  and  horrid 
in  town." 

So  intense  was  Maddison's  happiness  that  he 
was  content  to  be  silent,  as  he  walked  along  by  her 
side,  as  was  she,  for  she  went  in  fear  of  letting  him 
see  that  her  pleasure  at  the  meeting  was  not  so 
great  as  his.  Moreover,  the  journey  with  West 
had  given  her  food  for  thought,  and  the  knowledge 
that  he  was  staying  at  Brighton  had  altered  alto- 
gether the  plans  she  had  made.  A  day  or  two 
alone  with  Maddison  was  all  that  she  felt  she  could 
endure,  but  with  West  near  by  it  might  be  foolish 
to  return  to  town  so  soon. 

Suddenly    Maddison    stopped    and    took    her 


194  THE    PEST 

eagerly  by  the  hands;  stood  close  to  her,  looking 
down  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  know  what  this  meeting 
means  to  me,  Marian?  I  thought  I  knew  how 
much  you  are  to  me,  but  I  didn't — not  till  I  came 
down  here  and  was  without  you.  You're  all  the 
world  to  me,  Marian,  just  all  the  world.  There's 
nothing  else  in  the  world  for  me  but  you.  Are  you 
glad?  Very  glad ?" 

"  Very  glad !  "  she  answered  softly. 

"  I  used  to  laugh  at  men  who  went  mad  after 
a  woman;  but  I'm  mad  for  you,  Marian;  crazy 
as  can  be !  And  you — I  wonder,  have  you  suffered 
as  much  as  I  have  done?  I  hope  not  for  your 
sake,  but  I'm  selfish,  and  really  hope  that  you  have. 
Have  you?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell,  dear?  I  know — I  missed  you 
very  much,  ever  so  much.  But,  oh,  why,  George, 
worry  about  that?  Isn't  the  present  good  enough 
to  make  us  forget  all  about  it?  " 

"  You're  right !  By  Jove,  you're  right.  Let's 
get  on — I  want  to  have  you  all  alone — in  my  arms, 
and  to  hold  you  so  tight  that  you  can  never  slip 
away  again." 

"  That's  all  right !  "  she  answered,  laughing, 
"  but  I'm  not  a  man  with  seven-leagued  legs,  so 
unless  you  want  to  get  there  before  me,  don't  rush 
along  like  that !  " 


THE   PEST  195 

He  slackened  his  speed,  and  they  went  along, 
he  thinking  of  her,  and  stealing  look  after  look  at 
her.  She  was  wondering  if  she  would  have  the 
skill  and  the  strength  to  play  her  game  so  that  he 
should  not  discover  that  what  was  so  earnest  to 
him  to  her  was  only  make-believe.  She  consoled 
herself  with  the  thought  that  perhaps  did  he  love 
her  less  his  penetration  would  be  more  keen  and 
that  the  very  excess  of  his  ardor  would  make 
him  blind.  Nevertheless,  there  was  great  need 
for  care  upon  her  part,  which  would  indeed  have 
been  unendurable  to  her  had  she  not  known  that 
the  visit  was  to  be  brief  and  that  in  a  few  days' 
time  she  would  be  back  in  town,  free.  She  was 
consoled,  too,  by  the  remembrance  that  West  had 
asked  permission  to  call  upon  her. 

When  they  reached  the  cottage  Mrs.  Witchout 
stood  in  the  doorway,  anxiety  writ  large  upon  her 
wrinkled  face  and  her  nose  more  than  usually 
rubicund. 

"  Good  mornin',  ma'am,"  she  said.  "  I  was 
beginnin'  to  worrit  about  the  food.  Cookin's 
cookin',  I  always  says,  and  doin'  things  to  rags  is 
'nother  thing.  But  you're  Justin  time,  which  is 
more  than  Mr.  Maddison  usually  is." 

"  Mrs.  Witchout  keeps  me  in  grand  order,  Mar- 
ian, and  if  you  want  anything  while  you're  here, 
don't  ask  me  for  it — I'm  not  boss  of  the  show." 


196  THE    PEST 

"That's  the  way  he  always  runs  on;  don't 
take  anynoticeofhim,  I  don't.  Would  you  like 
to  go  up  to  your  room?  It's  upstairs — if 
youcancall  these  stepladdery  things  stairs.  This 
way,  m'm." 

Mrs.  Witchout  led  the  way  upstairs,  Maddison 
holding  Marian  back  a  minute  to  whisper  to 
her: 

"  By  the  way,  you're  my  sister!  I've  had  a 
bed  made  up  in  the  studio  for  myself.  Don't 
give  the  show  away.'* 

Marian  laughed  as  she  ran  up,  and  Maddison 
turned  into  the  living  room.  Everything  was 
ready,  the  table  neat,  cozy  and  pretty,  a  covered 
dish  and  the  plates  warming  by  the  fire,  which 
blazed  up  cheerily;  the  lattice  windows  were 
thrown  wide  open  and  the  sun  streamed  in 
warmly. 

"  You  don't  look  much  alike,"  said  Mrs. 
Witchout,  coming  in.  "  If  you  takes  arter  your 
father  she  must  take  arter  her  mother,  and  a 
'andsome  couple  they  must  'ave  been,  I'm 
thinkin'." 

"  Don't  try  to  flatter  me,  Mrs.  Witchout," 
Maddison  answered,  with  a  laugh,  as  he  sat  down 
on  the  window  seat,  watching  her  picking  up  the 
dish  with  the  assistance  of  her  apron.  "  It's  no 
use  your  coming  over  me  and  you  mustn't  spoil 


THE    PEST  197 

her  with  compliments,  though  the  biggest  would 
have  been  to  have  told  her  that  she  is  nearly  as 
good-looking  as  I  am." 

"  Lawks !  "  was  Mrs.  Witchout's  comment. 

"  What  a  jolly  little  room !  "  exclaimed 
Marian,  pausing  in  the  doorway  and  looking 
round.  "And  what  flowers!  And  the  windows, 
wide  open,  just  as  if  it  was  springtime.  It  feels 
like  it." 

"  Yes — and  termorrer  you'll  have  east  winds 
and  wet  to  bring  out  yer  rheumattics,  leastways  my 
rheumattics,  beggin'  pardon." 

"  Come  along;  I'm  sure  you're  hungry,  Marian, 
everybody  always  is  here.  And  Mrs.  Witchout, 
you  just  be  off !  We'll  look  after  ourselves  and 
won't  make  your  life  a  burden  to  you." 

"  I'll  go  when  I'm  ready,  Mr.  Maddison,  not 
afore." 

"There,  Marian,  what  did  I  tell  you?  You 
see  what  you  can  do." 

"  Don't  show  him  up  my  first  day  here,  Mrs. 
Witchout ;  let  him  have  his  way,  for  once!  " 

"  For  once !  They  always  do  say  it's  your  own 
fam'ly  who  knows  least  about  yer!  For  once! 
He  always  do  'ave  it." 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Witchout  hustled  from  the 
room  with  a  pretense  of  anger  that  was  trans- 
parent. 


198  THE    PEST 

"At  last!" 

Maddison  strode  across  the  room,  laid  his  hands 
on  Marian's  shoulders,  holding  her  at  arm's  length 
while  he  gazed  at  her.  Then  he  drew  her  close  to 
him,  feverishly  kissing  her  again  and  again,  kissing 
her  lips,  her  hair,  her  eyes. 

"  Haven't  you  a  kiss  for  me,  Marian?  " 

Their  lips  met,  and  his  heart  beat  as  though  it 
would  burst. 

"  Oh,  Marian,  Marian,  we  must  never  part 
again !  " 

For  the  moment  his  passion  overcame  her,  and 
she  lay  close  in  his  arms,  panting,  forgetful. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

ALICE  LANE  walked  quietly  along  the  pier 
toward  the  sea,  having  left  West  alone  with  his 
wife,  who  was  suffering  from  one  of  her  racking 
headaches  that  formed  the  chief  symptom  of  her 
illness.  Sedate,  tall,  well-proportioned,  with  ample 
movements  and  strong,  straight,  alert  gaze,  more 
than  one  man  turned  to  look  after  her  as  she  went 
by,  thinking  that  this  was  a  woman  upon  whom 
a  man  could  rely  for  sufficient  help  in  time  of 
trouble.  But  calm  as  was  her  outward  seeming, 
her  brain  was  busied  over  the  problem  which  had 
become  the  great  question  of  her  life,  and  which 
she  believed  would  soon  have  to  be  answered.  She 
did  not  think  that  West  had  guessed  the  secret  of 
her  love  for  him,  the  secret  which  she  had  so  jeal- 
ously guarded,  but  she  feared  that  Agatha  had  dis- 
covered it,  for  she  had  noticed  lately  a  coolness  in 
her  manner  and  a  watchfulness  that  was  new.  She 
had  noticed,  also,  a  distinct  change  in  West's  bear- 
ing toward  his  wife,  for  which  she  was  puzzled  to 
account.  She  had  all  along  felt  that  he  would  not 
be  able  to  find  abiding  content  in  the  companion- 
ship of  Agatha;  that  to  win  his  lasting  affection 

199 


200  THE   PEST 

something  more  was  needed  than  mere  prettiness 
and  winsomeness,  but  the  change  had  come  sooner 
than  she  had  expected,  and  she  fancied  that  per- 
haps there  might  be  some  external  influence  at 
work,  perhaps  another  woman.  Had  Agatha  con- 
tented West  and  made  him  happy,  Alice  Lane 
would  have  suffered  silently,  have  made  no  sign, 
would  never  have  attempted  to  win  his  love.  But 
if  Agatha  had  lost  him,  she  felt  free  to  take  him 
if  she  could  gain  him,  no  matter  at  what  cost  to 
herself.  Her  love  for  him  was  unselfish,  and  if 
by  any  sacrifice  she  could  achieve  his  welfare,  she 
would  gladly  make  it. 

Both  Agatha  and  he  pooh-poohed  any  sugges- 
tion on  her  part  that  her  visit  to  them  must  come 
to  an  end,  but  she  had  decided  that  it  must  do  so, 
and  at  once.  She  could  no  longer  bear  the  strain 
of  guarding  her  every  action,  look  and  word  for 
fear  that  either  of  them  should  see  into  her  heart. 
That  she  had  some  way  betrayed  herself  to  Agatha 
she  was  assured,  but  she  must  keep  her  secret  from 
Philip  until  such  time  as  he  should  have  a  secret 
to  confide  to  her.  Leave  them  then  she  must,  re- 
turning to  town  and  the  companionship  of  her 
brother. 

She  watched  from  the  end  of  the  pier  the  soft 
glitter  of  the  sunshine  upon  the  broken  water. 
She  tried  to  puzzle  out  her  future  course,  but  the 


THE    PEST  201 

way  was  not  plain  to  her.  There  was  this  added 
to  her  concern,  that  apart  from  the  breaking  up 
of  his  love  for  his  wife,  West  was  restless  and 
evidently  worried  by  some  business  care.  It  hurt 
her  to  think  of  him  alone  with  his  trouble,  with 
no  one  who,  even  without  understanding,  could 
give  him  nourishing  sympathy.  She  would  have 
sacrificed  her  soul  to  have  been  free  to  link  her 
arm  in  his  and  to  offer  to  walk  the  difficult  way 
by  his  side,  not  supported  by  him,  not  supporting 
him,  but  mutually  confident,  comrades,  allies. 

She  was  suddenly  aware  of  some  one  standing 
close  beside  her,  and  turning  slowly  found  that 
West  was  watching  her  with  evident  amusement. 
Taking  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth,  he  said: 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts !  " 

"  Not  for  sale,"  she  replied.  "  I  did  not  know 
you  were  coming  out." 

"  Neither  did  I.  But  Aggy  was — out  of  sorts," 
he  said  slowly,  "  out  of  sorts.  So  I  sent  her  off 
to  lie  down  and  rest;  and  came  along  here  at  a 
venture,  knowing  how  fond  you  are  of  drinking 
in  the  fresh  air.  Not  that  you  seemed  to  be  doing 
so  just  now  in  any  great  quantities,  for  your  mouth 
was  close  shut,  and  you  looked  as  if  you  were 
wanting  to  fight  somebody.  How  do  you  feel  for 
a  sharp  walk?  Let's  go  along  to  Hove  and  back, 
it'll  brisk  us  up ;  at  least  I  want  brisking  up.  You 


202  THE    PEST 

never  seem  to  vary,  like  a  weatherglass  fixed  at 
4  set  fair.'  " 

"  Blessed  are  good  appearances,"  she  said,  tac- 
itly accepting  his  suggestion ;  "  I  fancy  it's  best 
not  to  show  your  emotions;  so  few  people  know 
how  to  sympathize.  Most  of  them  talk,  and  that's 
the  least  part  of  sympathy — at  least  I  think  so." 

"  Do  I  show  my  emotions?  " 

"  I  can  only  guess  whether  you  do  or  not.  I 
might  think  I  knew  what  you  were  feeling,  and 
I  might  be  quite  wrong." 

"  What  am  I  feeling  now?  " 

"  Glad  to  be  out  in  the  fresh  air ;  glad  to  be 
moving;  hoping  by  talking  to  me  to  be  able  to 
forget  for  a  while — your  worries." 

"My  worries?"  he  asked,  looking  at  her 
keenly,  and  wondering  why  she  turned  her  face 
away  and  gazed  steadily  out  at  the  sea.  "  My 
worries?  H'm.  I  don't  think  much  of  you  as 
a  thought-reader;  you  might  say  that  to  any  busy 
man,  who  has  had  a  hard  day  and  most  of  a 
night  working  in  town." 

"  Yes — but  you  don't  usually  carry  your  busi- 
ness worries  about  with  you,  as  you  have  been 
doing  lately." 

"  Oh !  Lately.  Those  quiet  gray  eyes  of  yours 
are  keen.  Well,  it's  quite  true,  I  am  unusually 
worried  just  now,  and  you'll  be  surprised  to  hear 


THE    PEST  203 

that  I  hate  having  to  bear  my  worries  alone.  I 
used  not  to  mind  that  when  I  was  alone.  You 
see,  Aggy  doesn't  understand  business ;  it  isn't  her 
line  exactly " 

He  stopped  short,  for  it  occurred  to  him  that 
it  was  an  awkward  thing  to  discuss  his  wife  with 
another  woman,  however  intimate  a  friend  she 
might  be  of  them  both. 

"  Besides,"  he  went  on  quickly,  "  it  isn't  fair 
to  worry  her  just  now ;  she's  seedy  and  out  of  sorts 
and  wants  cheering,  not  depressing." 

"Depressing?" 

"  Well,  so  it  would  be  to  tell  her  I'm  worried, 
for  she  knows  I  don't  fidget  about  trifles.  I  must 
go  up  to  town  again  to-morrow  and  tackle  a  lot 
of  old  fossils  who  are  driving  me  to  exasperation." 

"  I  suppose  you'll  be  going  by  the  early  train?  " 

"Yes— why?" 

"  If  you  could  wait  till  a  bit  later — you  might 
escort  me." 

"  Why,  what  are  you  running  up  for?  Can't 
I  do  it  for  you?  " 

"  I'm  running  away  altogether.  Now,  don't 
interrupt.  I  must  go;  I  told  you  I  was  going, 
and  you  wouldn't  believe  me.  So  now  you  must 
both  accept  your  fate  and  make  the  best  of  me  at 
a  distance." 

"  I  jolly  well  won't.    .Your  brother  said  I  was 


204  THE    PEST 

to  take  care  of  you  and  how  the  doose  can  I  do 
that  if  you  won't  stay  with  us?  Besides,  I  must 
be  away  a  good  deal  at  present,  and  Aggy  will  be 
lonely " 

"  She  has  other  friends.  And — I  don't  think 
Aggy  is  quite  so  fond  of  me  as  she  used  to  be." 

"  Oh,  nonsense.  She's  not  quite  herself  now ; 
you  mustn't  mind  her  when  she's  a  bit  off  color." 

"That's  not  why  I'm  going;  I  merely  men- 
tioned it  to  show  that  there  was  less  reason  for 
my  staying  than  you  supposed.  It's  very  good 
and  very  kind  of  you — of  you  both — to  have  had 
me  with  you  so  long,  and  not  to  have  got  tired  of 
my  sober-sidedness.  But  don't  you  know  yet  how 
obstinate  I  am  ?  " 

"  Obstinate  ?  I  should  hardly  put  it  that  way. 
Firm,  I  should  say.  Yes,  I've  observed  it;  you 
generally  have  your  own  way." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that.  And  how  can  you  tell? 
Perhaps  I'm  wise  enough  only  to  let  my  wishes 
be  known  when  I  feel  pretty  sure  of  getting  them, 
and  to  bottle  them  up  tight  when  I  know  they're 
hopeless." 

They  walked  along  some  way  in  silence.  Alice 
had  become  a  habit,  and  to  learn  that  she  was 
going  to  leave  them  made  him  realize  that  the 
absence  of  her  quiet  influence  would  make  a  real 
change  to  him.  His  wife  had  almost  suddenly 


THE    PEST  205 

grown  to  be  nothing  to  him  but  a  burden  which 
he  had  taken  up  and  which  he  must  carry  with  as 
good  an  outward  grace  as  he  could  assume.  He 
believed  her  emotions  to  be  so  shallow  that  she 
would  not  long  moan  over  his  dead  affection  and 
that  she  would  be  reasonably  content  so  long  as  he 
could  provide  her  with  luxuries  and  amusement. 
But  now  he  was  brought  definitely  face  to  face 
with  the  fact  that  he  was  bound  to  a  companion 
who  was  becoming  every  day  more  distasteful  to 
him  and  with  whom  he  would  have  to  spend  many 
days  alone.  There  are  people  whose  influence 
though  strong  is  so  quiet  that  we  do  not  value 
them  at  their  true  price  until  they  are  taken  from 
us;  such  an  one  was  Alice  Lane.  Her  suddenly 
announced  departure  showed  plainly  to  West  that 
she  had  become  almost  a  necessity  to  him ;  that  she 
had  helped  often  to  smooth  away  asperities  and 
to  cover  over  Agatha's  deficiencies,  and  that  she 
could  give  him  that  comradeship  which  he  had 
learned  the  need  of  by  discovering  his  wife's  in- 
ability to  give  it  to  him. 

Comradeship  only,  he  believed,  for  he  did  not, 
in  any  usual  sense  of  the  word,  love  her.  She 
had  become  a  quiet,  steadying,  soothing  influence, 
a  mental  support  and  sedative.  It  was  not  her 
strange,  placid  comeliness  that  appealed  to  him; 
it  was  not  the  feminine  in  her:  she  was  almost  to 


106  THE   PEST 

him  what  a  man  friend  would  be,  save  that,  as  a 
woman,  he  had  to  treat  her  with  respect,  and  with 
self-respect.  She  had  not  come  between  him  and 
his  wife,  but,  on  the  contrary,  by  complementing 
her  deficiencies,  had  made  her  the  longer  endur- 
able. He  had  grown  accustomed  during  the  last 
few  months  to  her  companionship;  he  had  not, 
indeed,  talked  much  to  her,  or  in  any  degree 
sought  her  confidence,  but  her  mere  presence  had 
acted  soothingly  upon  him ;  and  to  be  with  her  had 
been  restful  and  pacifying.  Her  return  to  her 
brother's  house  would  practically  mean  that  she 
would  go  out  of  his  life,  except  for  occasional  visits 
and  meetings.  But  he  could  think  of  no  compelling 
reason  that  he  could  urge  for  her  staying  longer 
with  them,  and,  as  she  had  accused  him  of  being, 
he  was  well  aware  of  her  firmness  in  carrying  out 
any  decision  to  which  she  had  come.  He  had  been 
accustomed  to  having  his  own  way  with  those 
around  him,  but  instead  of  irritating  him,  it  added 
to  his  respect  and  admiration  for  her,  to  find  that 
what  she  thought  right  to  do,  she  would  do,  and 
that  no  persuasion  of  his  could  move  or  stay  her. 

"Tell  me  why  you  are  going?"  he  asked,  as 
they  turned  to  go  homeward,  and  faced  the  eager 
wind.  "  And  why  you  think  that  Aggy  doesn't 
care  so  much  for  you  as  she  used  to  do?  " 

"  If  I  were  a  man  I  suppose  I  should  be  ex- 


THE   PEST  207 

pected  to  give  a  reason  for  my  doings.  But  you 
see,  I'm  a  mere  woman,  and  of  course  act  on 
impulse." 

"  Not  at  all  a  mere  woman.  And  much  too 
clever,  not  to  know  that  generalizations  are  always 
untrue.  I  conclude  that  a  man's  an  ignorant  ass 
when  he  says  that  something  or  other  is  '  just  like 
a  woman.'  Though  it  is  rather  like  a  woman  to 
avoid  answering  a  question  by  making  an  aimless 
remark.  Why  are  you  going  home?  " 

"Why  should  I  have  stayed  so  long?  Why 
shouldn't  I  go  away  ?  Why  —  why  —  lots  of 
*  whys.'  " 

"  Don't  you  enjoy  being  with  us?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  she  answered,  no  sign  of  the 
pain  the  question  caused  her  showing  in  her  tone, 
though  she  ached  to  be  able  to  tell  him  how  ex- 
quisite was  the  torture  to  which  he  was  putting 
her.  "Of  course  I  do.  I  did  think  you  knew 
that;  you're  not  the  sort  of  man  who  needs  to  be 
told  everything  every  day." 

"  Well,  I  won't  make  use  of  an  old  friend's 
privilege  of  worrying  you.  But,  look  here,  when'll 
you  come  to  see  us  again  ?  " 

**  When  Aggy  asks  me,  if  she  doesn't  ask  me 
too  soon." 

The  words  sprang  to  her  lips  in  such  haste  that 
she  could  not  stay  them.  She  repented  them  bit- 


208  THE   PEST 

terly,  for  she  realized  at  once  that  they  might  lead 
to  disaster  for  Agatha,  who  might  refuse  to  ask 
her  again  to  visit  her;  who  might,  rendered  brave 
by  jealousy,  oppose  her  husband's  wish,  who 
might,  in  a  moment  of  anger,  give  her  reason 
for  so  doing,  thereby  perhaps  making  an  inevit- 
able breach  in  her  married  happiness.  But  the 
words  being  said,  any  attempt  to  withdraw  them 
might  stimulate  dangerous  questioning  on  his  part. 

"  When  Aggy  asks  you !  "  he  answered,  throw- 
ing his  head  up  and  laughing  gayly.  "  Well,  you 
may  as  well  not  go  away  at  all,  then.  Does  she 
know  you're  going  to-morrow?  " 

"  I  told  her  yesterday." 

"  Funny  she  didn't  tell  me.  What  did  she 
say?" 

"  Asked  me  to  stay." 

"  There  you  are !  " 

She  bit  her  lip  and  looked  away  from  him,  but 
he  could  see  the  expression  of  trouble  that  was 
upon  her  face,  and  felt  compunction  at  having  so 
over-eagerly  pressed  her. 

"  What  an  obstinate  tease  I  am !  "  he  said. 
14  When  I  can't  have  my  own  way,  I've  a  beastly 
habit  of  plugging  away  till  I  get  it,  quite  forgetting 
what  it  may  cost  the  other  chap  to  give  it.  What 
a  clumsy  boor  you  must  think  me;  I  deserve 
to  be  kicked.  I  ought  to  know  well  enough 


THE    PEST  209 

that  you  always  have  a  real  reason  for  what  you 
do." 

She  dared  not  reply,  for  fear  her  voice  would 
betray  her. 

When  they  reached  the  hotel  he  went  up  to 
his  wife's  room,  hoping  to  find  her  physically  bet- 
ter, and  less  querulous  for  her  rest.  She  was  lying 
on  the  bed,  covered  with  a  thick  eider-down  quilt, 
and  turned  slowly  to  look  at  him  as  he  came  in 
tiptoe. 

"  I  was  just  going  to  sleep,  and  now  you've 
roused  me  up,"  she  complained,  and  turned  away 
again. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  dearie;  it  was  clumsy  of  me," 
he  said,  going  round  the  bed,  and  sitting  down 
on  the  side.  He  took  her  hand,  which  she  let 
lie  passively  in  his. 

"  Don't  feel  any  better?  "  he  asked. 

"  My  head's  not  aching  so  much,  at  least  not 
quite." 

"  That's  fine.  '  Once  on  the  mend,  soon  at  an 
end.'  " 

"Where  did  you  walk?" 

"  Just  along  the  front  with  Alice,  nearly  to 
Hove.  The  wind's  jolly  cold." 

"Jolly?  It's  horrid;  Brighton's  horrid:  too 
cold  to  go  out,  and  the  hotel  is  so  stuffy." 

"Is  it?     I  hadn't  noticed  it.     But  I  do  wish 


210  THE   PEST 

you  would  go  out  more.  You  know  what  the 
doctor  said — lots  of  fresh  air." 

"  But  he  didn't  tell  me  to  go  out  when  it 
was  so  cold  it  gave  me  neuralgia  all  over  my 
head." 

"  Let  me  ring  and  we'll  have  tea  up  here.  It'll 
cheer  you  up." 

"  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't  always  treat  me  like 
a  child!  "  she  said  pettishly;  "  so  long  as  you  give 
me  pretty  things  or  feed  me  with  sweets  you  think 
I'm  happy." 

"  Aren't  you  happy,  dear?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not !  "  she  answered  sharply. 

"  Not?  "  he  repeated,  as  he  stood  up  and  started 
to  walk  about  the  room.  "  I  thought  you  were, 
dear.  What  can  I  do  ?  I've  always  tried  my  best 
to  give  you  what  you  wanted." 

"  Please  don't  walk  about  like  that,  you  don't 
know  what  a  headache  is.  You — don't  understand 
things." 

"  Don't  I  ?  "  he  asked,  standing  with  his  back 
to  the  fire;  "  then  why  not  try  to  teach  me?  " 

"  You  always  think  you  know  everything,  and 
are  always  right  and  that  I'm  always  wrong.  But 
I'm  right  sometimes." 

"  Why,  Aggy,  what  on  earth  have  I  done  to 
deserve  such  a  slating?  " 

As  she  did  not  make  any  reply  he  went  across 


THE    PEST  211 

to  the  bedside,  and,  stooping  down,  kissed  her, 
upon  which  she  turned  impatiently  away. 

"  If  you  don't  want  me  to  treat  you  as  a  child 
you  shouldn't  behave  like  one,"  he  said,  and,  after 
a  moment's  hesitation,  walked  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

WHILE  the  sun  was  shining  cheerily  at  Brighton 
the  rain  was  pouring  down  drearily  in  London, 
Acacia  Grove  looking  its  very  worst  under  the 
leaden  sky;  the  roadway  a  sea  of  mud,  the  leaf- 
less branches  of  the  trees  dripping  and  streaming, 
the  evergreen  shrubs  in  the  scrubby  gardens  none 
the  less  dirty  for  their  washing;  even  the  sharp 
rat-tat,  rat-tat,  of  the  postman  as  he  went  from 
house  to  house  sounding  dismal,  as  if  all  the  letters 
he  bore  must  announce  death  or  disaster. 

Squire  had  finished  his  frugal  breakfast,  and 
stood,  newspaper  in  hand,  looking  aimlessly  out 
of  the  window.  The  trouble  through  which  he 
was  passing  had  left  no  trace  or  mark  upon  his 
face,  but  there  was  a  restless  misery  in  his  eyes. 
Sighing  heavily,  he  held  up  the  paper  and  glanced 
at  it  without  purpose,  almost  unconsciously. 
"  Sunshine  at  Brighton  "  was  the  heading  of  an 
article  down  which  his  eye  ran  without  compre- 
hension until  Maddison's  name  fixed  his  atten- 
tion :  —  "  Another  well-known  face  occasionally 
seen  on  the  King's  Road  is  that  of  Mr.  George 


THE    PEST  213 

Maddison,  the  A.R.A.,  who  is  staying  at  his  cot- 
tage at  Rottingdean." 

He  crushed  the  paper  angrily  and  threw  it 
aside.  They  were  at  Rottingdean,  then;  that  was 
why  his  watch  upon  the  studio  had  been  vain. 
They  had  gone  away,  trusting  to  his  not  being  able 
to  trace  them. 

Since  his  interview  with  Maddison,  Squire's 
life  had  been  a  restless  dream;  every  purpose  had 
left  him  save  one,  the  finding  of  Marian.  De- 
spite the  upshot  of  his  last  conversation  with  her, 
he  still  felt  confident  that  he  could  rescue  her 
from  the  terrible  life  she  was  leading.  Hour 
after  hour,  sometimes  by  day,  sometimes  by  night, 
he  had  watched  the  studio  in  hopes  of  meeting 
her.  He  had  seen  Maddison  several  times,  but 
had  avoided  him;  it  was  Marian  with  whom  he 
desired  to  speak.  He  had  tried  to  track  Maddison 
more  than  once,  but  one  accident  or  another  had 
baffled  him.  Then  Maddison  appeared  no  more, 
and  he  had  had  to  wait  upon  "  the  skirts  of  happy 
chance,"  and  now  fate  had  helped  him.  Still  he 
hesitated,  for  by  several  incidents  it  had  been 
borne  in  upon  him  that  to  save  one  soul  he  was 
neglecting  many  others  intrusted  to  his  care — sin- 
ners, some  of  them,  greater  even  than  Marian. 
Could  he  feel  assured  that  he  was  pursuing  the 
right  course?  That  there  was  no  element  of  self 


214  THE   PEST 

in  his  eagerness  to  find  Marian  and  to  save  her? 
Would  he  have  been  so  eager  had  she  been  a 
stranger  to  him  ?  He  was  torn  this  way  and  that 
by  the  doubts  which  assailed  him. 

In  the  efficacy  of  prayer  he  had  absolute  faith, 
and  consternation  had  assailed  him  when  he  found 
that  prayer  brought  no  relief  to  his  agony  or  solu- 
tion of  his  difficulty.  He  had  asked  for  guidance, 
and  God  had  not  granted  him  any.  Heretofore 
prayer  had  always  brought  him  peace;  not  realiz- 
ing that  he  had  never  before  been  in  distress 
or  difficulty,  it  shocked,  then  stunned  him,  that 
no  response  apparently  was  to  be  made  to  his 
faithful  pleading  for  assistance.  It  is  said  that 
the  extreme  terror  caused  by  an  earthquake  arises 
from  the  failure  of  the  one  last  resort  of  safety 
when  all  else  is  crumbling,  by  the  trembling,  the 
shattering  beneath  the  feet  of  the  solid  earth  itself; 
when  that  fails  no  refuge  is  left.  It  was  thus 
with  Squire  now;  misery  might  be  his  lot,  but 
not  terror  at  any  disaster  or  misfortune,  for 
"  God's  in  His  heaven,  all's  right  with  the  world  " 
— that  had  been  his  faith.  But  was  God  in  His 
heaven?  He  had  raised  his  voice  to  heaven  and 
had  prayed  for  succor,  but  there  had  been  no 
answer:  had  God  forgotten  him?  There  was 
no  sense  of  rebellion  or  of  protest  in  his  heart, 
only  piteous  helplessness  and  loneliness.  His  spir- 


THE   PEST  215 

itual  pride  had  died ;  humility  had  taken  its  place, 
but  mingled  with  it  was  an  almost  insane  dread 
that  unwittingly  he  had  sinned  so  heinously 
that  God  had  cast  him  away.  As  he  had  knelt 
this  morning,  words  of  prayer  had  refused  to 
come.  He  had  striven  to  say  "  Our  Father  Which 
art  in  Heaven,"  but  his  trembling  lips  had  stum- 
bled ;  in  agony  he  had  buried  his  face  in  his  hands 
and  wept. 

There  was  a  friend  whom  more  than  once  he 
had  thought  of  consulting,  but  a  sense  of  shame 
had  restrained  him.  Now  in  this  crisis  of  his 
affairs,  he  felt  that  no  other  course  lay  open  to 
him,  and  that  if  it  was  in  any  way  possible  he 
should  act  upon  whatsoever  advice  should  be 
given  him. 

He  wrapped  himself  in  his  heavy  mackintosh, 
pressed  down  his  soft  felt  hat  closely,  and  set  out 
to  walk  toward  Dulwich  through  the  wind  and 
the  rain.  The  raw  air  at  first  chilled  then  stimu- 
lated him  and  he  made  his  way  along  rapidly. 
Gradually  the  ferment  in  his  mind  was  allayed,  and 
when  he  arrived  in  sight  of  his  friend's  house,  he 
almost  hesitated  as  to  going  in;  the  physical  exer- 
cise seemed  to  have  cleared  his  mental  horizon. 
But  the  half-hesitation  brought  back  the  feeling  of 
helplessness  from  which  he  was  trying  to  escape 
and  he  hurried  on. 


ai6  THE    PEST 

"  Why,  Edward !  You !  It's  an  age  since 
you  came  my  way;  I  thought  you'd  forgotten  me. 
Give  the  girl  your  things — so — come  along  in  here 
and  warm  yourself  by  the  fire.  You  don't  know 
how  glad  I  am  to  see  you.  But — you're  not  look- 
ing well,  though  you've  got  a  color." 

The  speaker  was  a  middle-aged,  thin  little 
woman,  with  a  sharp  face,  stamped  deeply  by  the 
hand  of  pain,  with  deep-set,  kindly  gray  eyes  and 
a  mouth  that  seemed  formed  so  as  to  be  able  to 
give  utterance  only  to  words  of  kindness  or  of 
consolation. 

She  sat  down  opposite  him. 

"  Aren't  you  well,  Edward?  " 

'  Yes,  yes,  thank  you,  I'm  quite  well  in  body. 
I  see — you  haven't  heard  ?  " 

"  Heard?     Marian's  all  well,  I  hope?  " 

He  did  not  answer,  and  after  a  searching  look 
at  him,  she  went  on : 

"  She's  not  ill?  If  she  is,  why  didn't  you  send 
for  me,  or  come  for  me?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,  it's  not  that,"  he  broke  in,  vehe- 
mently; "  it's  something  far  worse  than  that.  I 
scarcely  know  how  to  tell  you.  She's — gone  away 
— away  from  me." 

"Gone  away?  What  do  you  mean,  Ed- 
ward?" 

"We   weren't   happy   together;    at   least,    she 


THE    PEST  217 

wasn't  happy;  she  went  away  and  she's  living  a 
life  of  sin  with  another  man.  Oh,  what  am  I 
to  do?" 

"  This  is  terrible.  My  poor  boy,  my  poor 
boy." 

She  went  quietly  over  to  him,  and  putting  her 
arm  round  his  shoulder,  drew  his  head  gently  to 
her.  Then  his  pent-up  suffering  broke  its  bonds, 
and  he  sobbed  bitterly  as  he  rested  there,  near  that 
kind  heart  to  which  no  one  in  sorrow  h|d  ever 
appealed  in  vain. 

"  My  poor  boy,  why  didn't  you  come  to  me 
sooner?  —  instead  of  fighting  it  out  all  alone, 
though  not  alone,  for  I  know  you  have  faith  in 
the  great  Comforter." 

He  held  her  hand  tightly  as  he  began,  at  first 
brokenly,  to  tell  her  all  that  had  happened.  She 
knit  her  brows  as  she  listened,  and  when  he  ceased 
speaking,  drew  her  hand  gently  from  him,  and 
drew  back. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Let  me  think  a  minute.  But  first,  Edward, 
let  us  pray." 

They  kneeled  down  side  by  side  at  the  table,  and 
she  prayed  simply,  uttering  the  petition  of  a 
helpless  child  to  her  Father,  asking  that  this 
sorely-tried  man  and  herself,  his  weak  friend, 
might  be  guided  rightly  in  all  they  should  do  and 


ai8  THE    PEST 

that  the  way  might  be  made  plain  to  them.  The 
words  brought  comfort  to  him. 

"  Now,  Edward,"  she  said,  "  I  know  you  do 
not  expect  me  to  say  anything  except  exactly  what 
I  believe  to  be  true.  I  did  not  often  see  you  and 
Marian  together,  but  I  sometimes  wondered  if  in 
your  own  strength  you  did  not  sometimes  fail  to 
make  allowances  for  her  weakness." 

"  I've  tried  to  see  my  own  faults.  I've  no 
doubt  I  am  much  to  blame.  But  does  the  knowl- 
edge of  that  help  me  now?  It  would  help  me  if 
I  could  bring  Marian  back  to  me — but  it's  not 
that  which  has  made  me  come  to  you  for  advice. 
What  am  I  to  do?  Am  I  to  go  down  to  Rotting- 
dean,  see  Marian  and  make  another  appeal  to 
her?  And  if  I  do  and  if  I  fail — am  I  to  try 
again  and  again?  To  do  that  means  that  I 
should  be  neglecting  my  work.  Don't  you 
see?" 

He  then  went  on  to  tell  her,  what  he  had  not 
yet  mentioned,  of  the  horrible  terror  that  had 
struck  him  when  he  found  that  God,  as  he  believed, 
was  deaf  to  his  prayers. 

"  Now,"  he  said — "  now  you  understand  all. 
Can  you  help  me?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  One  thing  I  know  we  must  do 
if  we  are  to  help  her.  We  must  try  to  forget 
all  about  you  and  to  put  ourselves  in  her  place  as 


THE   PEST  219 

far  as  we  can.  Strangely  enough,  I  fancy  per- 
haps I  can  do  that  better  than  you  could.  I  know 
you  better  than  you  know  yourself  and  so  can  pos- 
sibly see  you  more  as  she  sees  you;  then  I'm  a 
woman  and  so,  though  I  don't  know  half  as  much 
about  her  as  you  do,  it's  more  than  likely  that  I 
understand  her  a  great  deal  better.  You  say  she 
changed  greatly,  after  you  had  been  some 
time  in  town,  from  what  she  had  been  in  the 
country?  " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  she  seemed  to  me  to  become  utterly 
different." 

"  Just  so.  But  of  course  she  didn't  change  at 
all — she  only  found  herself.  She  had  been  sim- 
ply an  artificial,  vicarage-bred  girl;  she  became  a 
woman.  She  never  did  anything  very  wrong  at 
the  vicarage — there  wasn't  any  temptation.  In 
town  she  picked  up  some  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree 
and  began  to  nibble  at  it  and  found  it  sweet.  She 
never  really  loved  you — I'm  sorry,  but  I  must 
hurt  you  if  I'm  to  help  you — it  wasn't  till  she 
came  up  here  that  she  realized  that  she  was  a 
woman;  she  had  no  love  for  you,  no  interest  in 
the  life  you  set  before  her,  no  faith;  she  is  young, 
beautiful,  full  of  life  and  energy  and  strong  emo- 
tions— so  far  all's  simple  enough.  But  what  fur- 
ther? Is  she  really  wicked  or  only  a  sinner? 
If  she's  really  through  and  through  bad,  I  know 


220  THE    PEST 

no  power  on  earth  can  help  her  or  save  her.  If 
she's  only  a  sinner  she  will  save  herself.  At  any 
rate  what  can  you  do  or  say  that  you  haven't 
tried?  She  knows  you  love  her  and  would  for- 
give her  —  I  don't  see,  Edward,  what  can  be 
gained  by  your  going  down  to  Rottingdean.  I 
dare  say  you  think  I'm  talking  hardly,  but  I'm 
not.  I'm  only  being  practical,  and  there's  no 
reason  I've  ever  heard  of  why  one  shouldn't  be 
truly  religious  at  the  same  time.  God  doesn't  love 
fools." 

"  Perhaps  that's  why  He  doesn't  love  me." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  for  a  moment  a  smile 
hovered  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"  You  good  people  are  so  very  difficult  to  help," 
she  went  on;  "you're  always  so  utterly  other- 
worldish  that  when  you've  got  to  worry  out  some 
worldly  trouble  you  don't  know  what  on  earth 
to  do,  and  that  being  the  case — pray  for  help, 
instead  of  for  strength  to  help  yourself.  What 
to  do?  It  seems  to  me  your  way  is  plain:  go 
back  to  your  work;  work  hard;  work  yourself  sick 
if  you  like,  and  instead  of  praying  so  much  for 
yourself,  pray  more  for  her." 

He  turned  away  from  her,  and  looked  out  at 
the  gray  rain.  She  had  spoken  almost  sharply, 
but  the  soft  tenderness  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked 
pityingly  at  him  betrayed  that  the  sharpness  lay 


THE    PEST  221 

only  in  the  expression  of  the  comfort  she  had 
offered  him. 

"  I  feel  that  you  are  right,"  he  said,  going  back 
to  her  and  holding  out  his  hands,  into  which  she 
gave  hers;  "  thank  you.  I'll  try." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THESE  days  were  almost  unalloyed  joy  to  Mad- 
dison,  and  full  of  pleasure  to  Marian,  only  check- 
ered by  the  difficulty  which  she  saw  before  her 
of  persuading  him  to  allow  her  to  return  to  town 
while  he  remained  where  he  was.  The  fear  of 
Squire  molesting  them  was  now,  she  felt,  an  in- 
sufficient excuse  for  their  separation,  not  sufficient, 
at  any  rate,  to  compel  Maddison  to  forego  his 
decision  that  he  would  not  be  parted  from  her 
again.  At  any  rate  this  motive  alone  was  not 
strong  enough,  and  she  searched  in  vain  for  some 
further  argument  to  support  it.  Determined  she 
was  to  free  herself  partially  from  him,  but  she  did 
not  wish  to  break  entirely  with  him  yet ;  indeed,  he 
was  essential  to  her  still.  She  would  not  run  any 
risk  she  could  avoid  or  foresee,  but  equally  she 
would  not  leave  any  effort  untried  to  obtain  her 
own  way. 

"  The  Rebel "  was  quickly  completed,  and  he 
had  no  other  work  on  hand.  Mrs.  West  had 
learned  from  her  husband  who  this  friend  was, 
and  therefore  accepted  the  excuse.  But  West 
himself  came  over  one  afternoon  in  the  motor  car, 

222 


THE    PEST  223 

and  was  told  by  Marian,  who  came  to  the  door, 
that  Maddison  had  walked  into  Brighton,  and  that 
she  was  alone,  nursing  a  headache. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  West  said,  thinking  how 
extraordinarily  pretty  she  looked  against  the  dark 
shadow  behind  her.  "  If  it's  not  a  real  bad  one, 
come  for  a  spin  in  the  car :  the  air  will  blow  it  out 
of  you  in  no  time." 

"  I  believe  it  would,  but " 

"  Oh,  I  know ;  never  mind  Maddison.  Leave 
a  note  pinned  up  for  him  to  tell  him  where 
you've  gone  in  case  he's  back  before  we 
are.  Now,  do  come;  I'm  sure  it  will  do  you 
good." 

"  It's  awfully  kind  of  you.  Very  well.  I  must 
just  run  up  for  my  hat  and  coat.  I  shan't  be  two 
minutes." 

"  Two  minutes !  I'll  give  you  five !  "  adding  to 
himself:  "  she's  worth  waiting  for." 

West  laughed  at  Marian's  coat,  "  which 
might,"  he  said,  "  keep  a  few  flies  out,"  and 
wrapped  her  in  rugs,  until  little  of  her  could  be 
seen  save  her  face,  peeping  out  beneath  the  natty 
fur  hat  which  she  had  tied  down  with  a  thick 
brown  veil. 

"  By  Jove,  you  look  like  Mother  Christmas," 
laughed  West.  "  All  snug?  Right!  Forrard!  " 

"  It's  glorious !  "  she  said,  as  they  sped  along  a 


THE   PEST 

short  piece  of  broad,  level  road.  "  I  don't  wonder 
men  go  mad  over  it." 

"  Don't  you  ever  go  mad  over  things?  " 

"I?  No,  I  don't  think  so.  I've  never  come 
across  anything  which  tempted  me  quite  enough 
to  make  me  go  mad  over  it.  Perhaps  I  was  born 
hopelessly  sane.  It  must  be  rather  nice  to  feel  real 
mad  sometimes." 

"  Yes,  it's  intoxicating,  just  that.  Don't  be 
scared,  I'm  not  going  to  do  it  now  anyway,  but 
I  sometimes  feel  horribly  tempted  to  turn  on  full 
speed,  let  her  rip,  put  my  hands  in  my  pockets 
and  see " 

"  But  then — you'd  never  be  able  to  get  intoxi- 
cated again.  I  prefer  something  less  final  than 
that.  A  big  business — to  be  at  the  head  of  it — 
a  sort  of  king — with  every  other  king's  hand 
against  me — that  would  intoxicate  me.  If  I  were 
a  man,  I  should  like  to  be  a  speaker  and  make 
thousands  drunk  with  my  words." 

"An  actress?" 

"Yes;  that  must  be  intoxicating  too — just  to 
play  on  an  audience — but — I  can't  do  any  of  these 
things,  so  I  must  content  myself  with  watching 
other  people — getting  intoxicated.  You  men  have 
most  of  the  good  things  in  the  way  of  power." 

"  Except  power  over  ourselves.  That  belongs 
to  you." 


THE    PEST  225 

"  Does  it?  Perhaps  to  some  of  us.  I  haven't 
got  it — at  least — I  want  to  persuade  George  to  do 
something  sensible  and  I  can't." 

"Perhaps  he's  intoxicated?" 

"  He  can't  afford  to  be  every  day.  He's  not 
done  a  stroke  of  work  since  I've  come  down 
here — or  rather  for  the  last  two  days,  not  touched 
Mrs.  West's  portrait,  and  won't — I'm  afraid — 
till  I  go  away,  and  he  won't  let  me  go.  I  came 
down  on  condition  that  I  only  stayed  three  days; 
I've  been  here  five  now.  I  daresay  you  think  it 
queer  my  talking  to  you — but  you  see  I  haven't 
got  any  friends,  and  you're  George's  friend  too. 
Couldn't  you — couldn't  you — just  give  him  a  bit 
of  advice?  " 

"  Oh,  lots,  heaps,  tons !  "  West  replied,  laugh- 
ing; "  and  couldn't  he  and  wouldn't  he  refuse  to 
take  an  ounce  of  it?  Of  course  he  would,  even 
if  he  didn't  tell  me  to  go  to  the — to  go  to,  for- 
sooth!" 

"Probably,"  said  Marian,  smiling;  "but  you 
wouldn't  mind  that,  would  you  ?  You  needn't  go. 
Don't  you  see,  it's  this  way :  he  might  pay  a  little 
more  attention  to  my  advice  if  he  found  that  you 
gave  him  just  the  same." 

"  Perhaps.  But  he's  got  an  obstinate  little  way 
of  his  own,  has  Master  George.  Besides,  do  you 
really  think  that  if  you  can't  get  a  thing  from  him 


226  THE    PEST 

by  yourself  you'll  be  able  to  do  so  with  my 
help?" 

"  You're  so  strong,"  Marian  said,  in  such  a 
matter-of-fact  tone  of  voice  that  West  laughed 
out  loud,  though  this  very  tone  flattered  and 
pleased  him. 

"  I  think  I  must  stop  the  car,  get  out  and  bow 
to  the  ground  in  gratitude,"  he  said.  "  It  isn't 
often  a  pretty  woman  pays  a  pretty  compliment 
in  such  a  tone  that  there's  no  doubting  its  genu- 
ineness." 

"Are  men  any  better?  I  should  hate  to  pay 
a  man  false  compliments,  but  I  never  expect  him 
to  do  anything  else.  When  a  man  thinks  a  woman 
pretty  he  calls  her  lovely,  and  when  she's  ugly  he 
says  she's  pretty,  and — we — oh,  we're  just  weak 
fools  enough  to  love  a  pretty  lie  and  to  hate  an 
ugly  truth." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  he  asked  bluntly. 

"  Present  company  always  excepted." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  When  anyone  says  that 
I  at  once  conclude  that  present  company  was 
particularly  meant.  Yes,  it's  wonderful  what  you 
can  do  with  soft-sawder,  especially  in  business. 
Only  you  must  be  careful  to  deal  with  each  man 
as  an  individual:  some  like  their  compliments  hot, 
some  cold,  some  spoken,  some  implied,  some  like 
to  be  taken  for  saints  and  some  for  sinners. 


THE   PEST  227 

Here's  the  whole  art  of  big  business  in  a  nutshell 
— '  play  high,  play  low/  high  stakes  and  a  low 
estimate  of  the  strength  of  human  nature;  every 
man  has  his  price,  though  more  often  than  not  it 
isn't  money." 

"  You're  a  cynic !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  in  labels;  I  try  to  flatter  myself 
that  I'm  a  practical  man  of  business,  while  all 
the  time  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  I  know  that 
I'm  what  every  man  and  woman  really  is — just 
a  mere  emotional  creature  of  impulse.  Oh,  yes, 
I've  met  those  cold-blooded,  calculating,  anaemic- 
looking  men,  but  they're  just  as  impulsive,  only 
they  hoodwink  themselves  by  finding  reasons  for 
their  impulse,  and  very  often  by  the  time  they've 
found  them  it's  too  late  to  act  on  their  impulse. 
Study  history;  you  won't  find  any  really  big  man 
who  didn't  act  on  impulse  at  all  the  important 
moments  of  his  life;  impulse  unconsciously  checked 
and  guided  by  the  intuition  which  makes  a  man 
a  genius." 

"How  is  it  there  are  no  great  women,  then? 
We've  got  impulses  and  intuition." 

"  The  average  woman  has  more  intuition  than 
the  average  man,  but  almost  all  women  are  just 
average.  Then  you  let  your  emotions  run  away 
with  you  more  often  than  we  do,  and  you  run  away 
so  far  that  you  generally  can't  get  back  again." 


228  THE   PEST 

"That's  true.  It  comes  back  to  what  I  said: 
men  have  most  of  the  good  things." 

"  We  have  to  work  hard  to  keep  them.  Then 
— it  isn't  till  we're  old  and  worn  out  that  we 
know  what's  worth  having;  life's  a  long  chase 
after  knowledge,  and  when  we've  caught  it  up — 
if  we  ever  do — we've  no  time  left  to  use  it  in." 

"  But  meantime  you've  thoroughly  enjoyed  the 
chase?" 

"  Yes,  that's  true;  by  God,  that's  true.  If  life 
was  a  certainty  and  not  the  wild  speculation  it  is — 
it  wouldn't  be  worth  living." 

He  stopped  short,  slowed  down  the  pace  of 
the  car  almost  to  a  crawl,  as  he  turned  and  looked 
searchingly  at  her. 

"  You're — what  shall  I  call  you  ?  "  he  asked — 
"  a  witch  or  a  fairy  or  what?  You've  made  me 
talk  more  than  I've  ever  done  to  any  woman,  or 
man,  for  the  matter  of  that.  There  are  so  few 
people  worth  talking  to." 

"  Because  there  are  so  few  who  know  how  to 
listen." 

West  greeted  this  retort  with  a  shout  of 
laughter. 

"  A  hit  1  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Yes,  I  suppose  that's 
horribly  true — you're  kind  enough  not  to  have 
shown  me  how  I  bored  you,  and  so — I've  thor- 
oughly enjoyed  myself." 


THE    PEST  229 

"  It's  not  that  at  all,"  Marian  retorted,  put- 
ting a  touch  of  anger  into  her  voice.  "  That's 
rude  of  you;  it's  calling  me  deliberately  insincere 
and  also  pointing  out  that  what  I've  said  might 
just  as  well  have  been  unsaid  for  all  you  heard  or 
noticed  it." 

"  Mrs.  Squire,  'pon  my  honor  you're  taking 
things — seriously;  you're  not  really  angry ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am.  I  am.  I  was  enjoying  myself,  and 
you  suddenly —  Please  drive  on,  quick,  quick. 
You  can't  talk  if  you  go  quick,  and  then  shan't 
/  bore  you" 

"  But  really,  Mrs.  Squire,  I " 

"  Please  drive  on — quick !  "  Marian  inter- 
rupted. 

"  She's  a  masterful  little  devil,"  West  thought, 
as  he  obeyed  her  orders,  and  he  also  decided  that 
Maddison  was  a  lucky  devil.  A  woman  who  is 
difficult  to  win  or  a  man  who  has  won  is  usually 
likened  to  the  greatest  of  the  fallen  angels.  The 
devil  has  many  unconscious  admirers  and  there  are 
many  who  envy  him. 

West  slowed  down  again  when  they  were  near- 
ing  home. 

"There!  Wasn't  I  good?"  he  asked.  "I 
obeyed  orders  like  a  lamb.  Have  you  for- 
given me  ?  " 

"  No,   I   haven't,"    Marian   answered,  with   a 


23o  THE    PEST 

catch  in  her  voice  as  she  went  on :  "  it's  not  easy 
to  forgive  anyone  who  smashes  up  a  pleasant 
time " 

"  But,  Mrs.  Squire,  really  I  didn't  do  anything 
much " 

"  Much !  You  said  the  wrong  thing  and  it 
jarred;  that's  all,  but  it's  a  good  deal  when 
you're  really  enjoying  yourself.  Here  we  are 
home,  and  there's  George.  Don't  forget  your 
promise,  if  you  get  a  chance  of  speaking  to  him." 

"  But  I  didn't  promise " 

"  Well,  keep  it  all  the  same — just  to  show 
you're  sorry  for  what  you've  done.  I  was  going 
to  thank  you  for  the  ride,  but  I  shan't  now." 

Maddison  helped  Marian  to  alight,  and  wel- 
comed West  warmly. 

"  Go  and  put  your  box  of  tricks  up  at  the 
garage  and  come  back  here  to  tea?  Good! 
Then  we'll  expect  you  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at 
most;  don't  stop  down  there  discussing  motor 
mysteries." 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  think  it  horrid  of  me  to 
go  out  for  a  run  with  Mr.  West;  I  thought  the 
blow  might  do  my  head  good." 

"And  has  it,  sweetheart?"  he  asked,  as  he 
nestled  her  head  against  his  shoulder  and  kissed 
her.  "  I  do  hope  it  has.  I  hate  you  having  any 
pain." 


THE    PEST.  231 

"  Yes,  dear,  it's  quite  gone  away — but — you 
asked  Mr.  West  to  tea  and  there  won't  be  any 
for  him  if — you  insist  on  going  on  in  this  way  I  " 

She  broke  away  from  him,  laughing  merrily, 
and  slammed  the  parlor  door  and  locked  it  in  his 
face  as  he  ran  after  her,  calling  to  him: 

"  Cook  won't  have  you  in  her  kitchen !  I  must 
attend  to  the  kettle  and  not  to  you  for  once !  " 

She  took  oft  her  heavy  coat  and  then  set  about 
preparing  the  tea  things,  and  as  she  busied  herself 
with  them,  thought  over  the  events  of  the  after- 
noon. She  was  certain  that  West  was  to  be 
caught  only  by  making  him  feel  that  he  was  pur- 
suer, not  pursued;  by  no  art  of  coquetry  on  her 
part,  but  by  a  show  of  absolute  indifference  to 
him,  which  would  lure  him  to  win  her  out  of  pride 
if  not  for  love.  Once  she  could  rouse  his  interest 
in  her,  she  was  confident  the  game  would  be  in 
her  own  hands.  She  was  pleased  at  the  way 
in  which  she  had  made  the  most  of  West's  inno- 
cent speech,  and  made  up  her  mind  that  merely 
pleasant  friendliness  must  be  her  attitude  toward 
him,  until  he  sought  to  make  her  change  it,  and 
even  then  he  must  find  anything  further  difficult 
to  gain. 

West  was  in  the  studio  when  she  carried  in 
the  tray,  and  insisted  on  taking  it  from  her,  while 
Maddison  drew  up  a  table  to  the  fireside.  Cakes 


232  THE   PEST 

were  set  close  to  the  blazing  fire  to  keep  hot. 
Maddison  drew  the  curtains  and  struck  a  match. 

"  Don't  light  the  lamps  yet,  George,"  said 
Marian,  "  unless  you  and  Mr.  West  dislike  blind- 
man's  holiday.  Stir  up  the  fire  and  make  a  big 
blaze  and  we'll  have  tea  by  firelight;  it's  much 
more  cozy — and  artistic  too,  so  there !  " 

The  rough  cottage  fireplace,  with  old-fashioned 
blue  tiles  and  broad  grate;  the  rich  blaze;  the 
dark  background  of  the  studio;  Marian,  her  red- 
gold  hair  gloriously  lit  by  the  dancing  flames, 
graceful,  lithe;  Maddison,  with  his  dusky,  refined 
face  and  his  midnight  eyes;  West,  long,  lank, 
angular,  with  his  shock  of  dark  hair  and  his  eyes 
of  deep  blue :  the  man  of  art,  the  man  of  the  world, 
and  the  woman;  each  man  wishing  that  the  other 
were  absent. 

"  Now,  Mr.  West,  open  the  door,"  said  Marian, 
after  tea,  as  she  put  the  cups  and  saucers  together 
on  the  tray.  u  Please  open  the  door — I'm  off  to 
wash  up.  I  always  wash  up  the  tea  things,  because 
it  secures  a  lecture  from  Mrs.  Witchout  in  the 
morning,  which  is  always  delightful.  You  and 
George  can  talk  high  art  and  smoke." 

Maddison  lit  a  pipe,  while  West  contented  him- 
self with  a  cigarette. 

"  When  you  told  me  about  yourself  and  Mrs. 
Squire,  I  naturally  thought  you'd  made  a  fool 


THE    PEST  233 

of  yourself  or  been  made  a  fool  of,  Maddison," 
West  said,  as  he  prowled  about;  "but  you're  a 
lucky  devil.  She's  a  clever,  interesting  woman. 
No  wonder  she  couldn't  stick  to  the  curate — I  won- 
der how  she  ever  came  to  marry  him.  Hullo  I 
Here's  *  The  Rebel/  Can't  see  by  this  jumpy 
light — is  it  finished  ?  " 

"  Yes — as  far  as  /  can  finish  it." 

"  If  you  can't,  who  can?  Anything  else  on 
hand  beside  the  portrait  of  the  missis?  " 

"No." 

"  You're  getting  lazy.  You're  enjoying  your- 
self too  much.  I  must  tell  Mrs.  Squire  to  buck 
you  up  and  make  you  work.  Don't  forget,  old 
chap,  that  I  want  *  The  Rebel '  if  you'll  let  me 
have  it.  I  don't  mind  your  doing  a  replica  for 
yourself,  provided  you  never  part  with  it.  Think 
it  over.  You  haven't  much  more  than  three 
months  before  you'll  have  to  send  in — I  forgot 
you're  a  blooming  A.R.A. — but  buck  up,  it  don't 
do  to  rest  on  your  oars  nowadays,  competition's 
too  keen  and  you  must  keep  yourself  before  the 
public  if  you  don't  want  to  be  forgotten." 

"  That's  shop  talk,  West." 

"  All  the  world's  a  shop,  my  boy ;  always  has 
been,  always  will  be.  Why,  even  the  socialist  idea 
is  to  turn  the  country  into  a  universal  provider. 
Don't  think  it  would  help  matters  if  poets  and 


234  THE    PEST 

painters  were  endowed  by  the  State  and  hadn't  to 
work  for  a  living.  You  can't  tell  me  of  any 
rich  man — any  man  born  rich — who  has  ever  done 
any  art  work  worth  talking  about.  If  it  weren't 
for  women  and  money  the  world  would  die  of 


inanition." 


"What  rot  you  do  talk  sometimes,  West;  I 
suppose  you  find  it  a  useful  habit  in  business;  when 
a  wise  man  can  disguise  himself  as  a  foolish,  he's 
sure  to  get  on." 

"  And  the  reverse  also  holds  good,  from  which, 
logically,  it  must  be  deduced  that  to  appear  other 
than  you  are  is  the  first  law  of  existence!  But 
as  a  matter  of  fact  you  know  I'm  not  talking 
nonsense.  If  I  were  to  say  to  you:  '  I'll  give  you 
an  annuity  of  three  thousand  a  year,  on  condi- 
tion that  you  give  me  all  the  pictures  you  paint, 
but  you've  only  to  paint  when  you  feel  inspired 
to  do  so,'  why,  my  dear  fellow,  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do  that  your  career  would  be  over.  Thank 
your  lucky  stars  you've  got  to  work  for  your 
living.  Well,  I  must  be  off,  Aggy  will  wonder 
what  on  earth's  become  of  me.  She's  always  ex- 
pecting me  to  smash  myself.  Do  you  think  I  may 
*  walk  into  the  parlor '  and  say  *  good-by '  to 
—cook?" 


CHAPTER    XIX 

HAD  Maddison  known  that  West's  advice  had 
been  inspired  by  Marian  he  would  have  set  it  aside 
angrily,  but  in  his  ignorance  he  looked  on  it  as 
curiously  coincidental  with  much  of  what  she  had 
said  to  him,  when  she  had  urged  upon  him  the 
necessity  of  their  separating  again.  The  fear  of 
Squire's  persecution  had  been  thrust  into  the  back- 
ground, and  he  had  tried  also  to  shake  off  the  feel- 
ing that  had  gradually  been  growing  upon  him, 
that  his  love  for  her  was  interfering  detrimentally 
with  his  work.  "  The  Rebel  "  he  believed,  in  fact 
he  knew,  to  be  the  finest  picture  he  had  yet  painted, 
and  the  portrait  of  Mrs.  West  would,  he  believed, 
be  good;  but  beyond  these  two  canvases  he  could 
not  see.  Marian  seemed  to  stand  between  him  and 
his  inspiration,  upon  which  he  had  never  before 
called  in  vain,  upon  which,  indeed,  he  had  never 
before  been  compelled  to  call,  for  it  had  always 
come  unsummoned. 

Many  difficulties  faced  him.  He  could  not 
bring  himself  to  sell  "  The  Rebel,"  even  to  West — 
it  seemed  like  parting  with  Marian.  The  portrait 
would  bring  him  in  a  large  sum,  but  not  sufficient 


236  THE   PEST 

to  meet  the  expense  of  the  coming  year.  His  re- 
sources were  low;  he  had  always  lived  close  up 
to  his  income,  saving  scarcely  anything,  and  that 
little  had  now  been  drawn  upon  to  the  full.  All 
this  would  not  have  mattered  had  he  been  alone, 
with  only  himself  to  care  for;  though  fond  of 
luxury,  he  was  not  a  slave  to  it.  But  he  had  taken 
Marian  into  his  charge,  was  responsible  for  her 
well-being,  not  only  now,  but  under  compulsion 
of  honor  and  love  not  to  leave  her  penniless  if 
anything  ill  should  chance  to  come  to  him.  The 
fact  that  faced  him  was  that  he  must  set  to  work 
at  once,  must  work  rapidly  and  well.  It  was  not 
essential  that  his  pictures  should  be  exhibited  at 
any  of  the  spring  shows — the  dealers  were  always 
ready  to  welcome  and  able  to  dispose  of  any  work 
he  could  offer  them.  Nevertheless  time  pressed, 
unless  he  borrowed  upon  work  undone,  so  mort- 
gaging the  future,  of  doing  which  he  hated  and 
feared  the  thought. 

With  Marian  as  model  he  could  doubtless  paint 
more  than  one  picture,  but  strive  as  he  would 
he  could  think  of  no  subject;  it  was  Marian  as 
Marian  who  occupied  him  entirely,  and  to  paint 
her  portrait  in  this,  that  and  the  other  attitude 
would  be  not  merely  banal,  but  distasteful  to  him. 
Further  still,  with  her  beside  him,  near  him,  within 
call,  there  seemed  to  be  no  room  in  his  life  for  any 


THE   PEST  237 

other  desire  than  to  be  with  her,  just  to  see  her, 
to  love  her,  to  please  her.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
they  parted,  did  the  experience  of  the  short 
separation  through  which  he  had  gone  hold  out 
any  promise  of  greater  ability  to  work?  Not 
much.  But  this  new  separation  would  be 
different;  it  would  be  caused  by  the  necessity 
of  work  so  that  they  might  be  together;  the 
better,  the  quicker  the  work,  the  shorter  the 
separation;  surely  that  great  incentive  would  spur 
him  on  to  success?  It  was  Marian  alone  whom 
he  must  consider.  To  go  on  as  he  was  meant 
being  forced  to  ask  her  to  make  sacrifices,  and 
that  idea  he  put  behind  him  at  once  and 
finally.  To  go  away  for  a  while,  with  only 
occasional  meetings  with  her  during  the  next  few 
months,  was  her  own  suggestion,  based,  indeed, 
upon  other  reasons  than  those  upon  which  he 
would  act,  and  he  appreciated  what  he  believed 
to  be  the  loving  unselfishness  that  inspired  it,  for 
to  her,  as  to  him,  the  parting  and  the  separation 
would  be  full  of  pain.  But  did  not  love  for  her 
demand  of  him  that  he  should  pursue  this  course? 
After  all,  would  not  the  resultant  reward  be  great? 
It  seemed  to  him  that  it  refined  and  purified  his 
love  for  Marian  the  making  of  this  sacrifice  for 
her  sake.  So  far  his  passion  had  been  entirely 
selfish;  he  had  thought  so  little  of  herself  and  so 


238  THE   PEST 

much  of  himself;  so  much  of  what  she  gave  him, 
so  little  of  what  he  gave  her;  so  much  of  his 
future  with  her,  so  little  of  what  might  come  to 
her.  It  was  hot  passion  at  first,  overwhelming 
passion  for  a  beautiful,  desirable  woman;  this  pas- 
sion had  not  decreased,  had  not  in  any  way  been 
satiated  by  possession,  but  added  to  it  now  was 
the  other  part  of  love,  which  is  as  unselfish  as  pas- 
sion is  selfish.  Her  happiness,  her  peace,  her  de- 
light, how  could  he  best  secure  them?  It  shocked 
him  at  first  when  he  tried  to  reduce  this  vague 
wish  to  practicality,  to  find  that  the  first  thing  he 
must  do  was  to  work  for  money.  There  was  no 
escaping  from  that — he  must  make  money;  he 
must  work.  He  could  not  work  with  her  beside 
him — at  least  he  could  not  do  so  now;  perhaps 
the  time  would  come  when  he  could  not  work 
apart  from  her — perhaps  that  time  had  indeed 
come,  though  he  did  not  know  it — perhaps — 
perhaps — ;  so  round  and  round  in  this  circle  his 
thoughts  flew,  and  the  one  thing  that  came  forth 
clear  to  him  was  that  he  must  agree  to  Marian 
returning  to  town  and  to  his  not  seeing  her  for 
some  weeks. 

He  saw  her  off;  stood  looking  after  her,  almost 
dazed,  then  turned  away  like  one  blind,  and  walked 
slowly  home  to  the  empty  studio  and  the  empty 
life. 


THE   PEST  239 

Far  different  were  Marian's  feelings  on  part- 
ing with  him.  His  decision  had  taken  her  by 
surprise,  until  he  had  put  fairly  before  her  the 
reasons  that  were  his  motives.  She  had  feigned 
willingness  to  share  any  degree  of  poverty  with 
him,  well  knowing  that  she  did  not  risk  any- 
thing by  so  doing,  but  on  the  contrary  fixed  more 
firmly  his  determination  to  ask  her  for  no  sac- 
rifice. Of  Squire  they  had  not  spoken.  She  was 
not  so  inhuman  as  not  to  feel  any  touch  of  grati- 
tude, or  any  spark  of  pity  for  the  man  who  loved 
her  so  truly  and  so  unselfishly;  she  almost  wished 
she  could  have  loved  him ;  but  being  what  she  was, 
these  emotions  did  not  make  her  for  a  moment 
hesitate  to  pursue  the  course  she  had  mapped 
out  for  herself.  The  love  of  power,  which  had 
once  been  her  strongest  motive,  was  growing 
weaker  day  by  day;  the  love  of  luxury  and 
pleasure  growing  in  intensity;  the  world  de- 
clining in  its  attractions;  the  flesh  and  the  devil 
in  her  increasing  in  their  sway  over  her  wishes 
and  actions.  Philip  West  now  attracted  her 
chiefly  as  a  rich  man,  only  in  the  second  place 
because  of  the  satisfaction  it  would  be  to  re- 
duce a  strong  man  to  her  command;  Sydney 
Geraldstein  appealed  to  all  that  was  basest 
in  her.  She  had  not  seen  West  since  he  had 
driven  her  .  in  his  car,  but  she  knew  that 


240  THE   PEST 

he  would  hear  at  once  of  her  return  to  town, 
for  Maddison  had  decided  to  call  on  Mrs.  West, 
in  order  to  arrange  for  the  resumption  of 
the  sittings  for  the  portrait.  How  soon 
would  West  come  to  see  her?  Would  he  come 
at  all? 

She  had  taken  the  precaution  of  telegraphing 
the  hour  of  return,  so  found  tea  waiting  ready 
for  her,  and  the  rooms  looking  very  cozy.  There 
were  a  few  letters,  bills  chiefly,  which  might 
wait,  as  she  didn't  want  to  bother  Maddison 
with  them  just  at  once,  and  the  dressmaker's 
was  for  a  considerable  sum.  Also  a  note  from 
Geraldstein  asking  her  to  dine  with  him,  curi- 
ously enough,  this  very  evening;  he  would  call 
for  her  at  half-past  seven,  if  he  did  not  hear  to 
the  contrary. 

Should  she  accept?  He  had  asked  her 
once  before,  but  she  had  refused,  chiefly  be- 
cause he  appeared  to  be  so  assured  that  she 
would  accept.  Something  in  his  dogged  sensu- 
ality appealed  to  her;  of  course,  acceptance 
would  be  taken  by  him,  and  must  be  meant 
by  her,  as  the  first  sign  of  capitulation  on  her 
part,  though  she  had  no  intention  whatever  of 
surrendering  at  once,  if  at  all.  The  thought 
of  West  gave  her  pause.  Geraldstein  would 
leave  and  forget  her  very  quickly — variety  was 


THE   PEST  241 

the  essence  of  his  pleasures.  West,  if  she  secured 
him,  might  be  a  lifelong  friend — but — was  not 
variety  growing  to  be  a  fascination  to  her?  West 
was  at  Brighton — she  would  run  the  risk. 

Geraldstein  was  shown  into  the  drawing  room, 
being  told  that  Mrs.  Squire  would  not  keep  him 
waiting  more  than  a  few  minutes.  An  incredulous 
smile  flitted  across  his  heavy  face,  as  he  glanced 
impatiently  at  the  clock,  which  pointed  exactly  to 
the  half  hour. 

"  It's  lucky,"  he  thought,  as  he  lit  a  cigarette, 
"  that  we  want  women  for  pleasure,  not  for  busi- 
ness. Time  means  nothing  to  them." 

He  picked  up  the  bills  which  Marian  had 
left  lying  upon  the  mantelpiece,  and  looked 
at  them  quizzically.  Then  he  glanced  at  a 
photograph  of  Maddison,  and  wondered  how 
long  the  painter  chap  would  be  able  to  stand 
the  racket.  After  a  moment's  hesitation,  he 
folded  up  the  dressmaker's  account,  and  put 
it  in  his  pocket.  There  was  nothing  else  in 
the  room  that  had  any  interest  for  him,  save 
that  he  glanced  at  the  music  on  the  piano, 
and  was  surprised  to  find  that  it  was  not 
music-hall  or  musical  comedy  songs.  Most  of 
these  women  were  such  coarse  brutes;  there  was 
something  piquant  and  appetizing  about  Marian's 
daintiness  and  culture. 


242  THE    PEST 

She  came  quickly  in,  with  a  pretty  plea  for 
forgiveness. 

"  You've  only  kept  me  three  minutes,  but  it 
seemed  like  an  hour,"  said  Geraldstein  restrain- 
ing himself  by  an  effort  from  giving  way  to  the 
strong  impulse  to  take  her  in  his  arms.  "  You're 
evidently  not  an  epicure,  or  you  would  know  what 
a  crime  it  is  to  keep  dinner  even  three  minutes 
late.  However,  with  luck  and  a  good  horse 
we  shall  be  in  good  time.  I've  booked  my 
pet  corner  table  at  Goldoni's,  my  pet  waiter, 
ordered  my  pet  dinner  and  my  pet  wine — all 
— in  honor  of  you.  Have  you  ever  been  to 
Goldoni's?" 

"  Never;  I've  only  heard  wonderful  tales  of  it 
— fairy  tales,  I  always  thought  them." 

"  Well,  come  along  to  fairyland." 

The  few  who  can  afford  to  dine  at  Goldoni's 
seldom  care  to  dine  elsewhere,  or  rather  when  they 
are  elsewhere  they  sigh  for  Goldoni's.  Marian 
was  curious  to  see  for  herself  what  manner  of 
place  was  this  famous  restaurant,  and  was  duly 
grateful  to  Geraldstein  for  taking  her  there;  she 
had  feared  that  he  might  choose  one  of  the  less 
reputable  haunts  of  merriment  by  night,  which  in 
his  company  might  have  proved  distasteful. 

Everything  at  Goldoni's  is  refined  except  the 
company,  which  has  but  one  common  virtue, 


THE    PEST  243 

money.  Outwardly,  however,  even  the  most  gross 
conduct  themselves  there  in  seemly  fashion.  On 
one  occasion  only  it  had  not  been  so,  and  the 
peccant  guest  had  been  politely  but  firmly  refused 
a  table  when  next  he  had  desired  to  dine  there. 
The  warning  had  acted  efficaciously  and  at  the 
same  time  had  vastly  enhanced  the  renown  of 
the  place.  With  the  exception  that  instead  of 
one  large  there  are  many  small  tables  in  the  dining 
room  the  effect  aimed  at  and  achieved  is  that  of 
a  wealthy  private  house;  in  fact,  it  is  a  private 
house  in  every  way;  there  is  no  sign  above  the 
ordinary  hall  door,  sedate  green  with  ponderous 
brass  knocker.  Faultless  footmen  relieve  the  men 
of  their  coats  and  hats,  and  then  usher  them 
into  the  fine  reception  room  where  they  wait  for 
the  ladies  who  are  being  attended  by  equally 
faultless  maidservants.  The  dining  room  is  a 
long,  finely  proportioned  room,  broken  into  halves 
by  two  graceful  pillars;  the  fireplaces  are  ex- 
quisitely designed — the  whole  indeed  is  an  ad- 
mirable example  of  Adam's  best  work.  Along 
the  top  of  the  cornice,  hidden  from  sight,  runs  a 
row  of  electric  lamps  by  which,  reflected  from  the 
ceiling,  a  cool  light  is  shed  on  the  apartment. 
The  table  appointments  are  perfectly  simple,  just 
those  of  any  rich  and  refined  household,  and  the 
attendance  is — silent.  For  the  cooking  and  the 


244  THE   PEST 

wines,  "  they  are  not  perfection,"  M.  Goldoni 
frankly  admits,  adding:  "but  we  strive  after  it." 

Though  Geraldstein  was  not  personally  ac- 
quainted with  any  of  the  other  diners,  he  knew 
many  of  them  by  sight  and  reputation. 

"  There — you  see  that  thin  little  man  over 
there,  with  the  full-blown  wife  and  half-ripe 
daughters — that's  Markham,  the  American  mil- 
lionaire, who  has  more  money  and  less  digestion 
than  any  man  in  the  world.  He  never  eats 
anything  but  peptonized  biscuit  and  drinks  warm 
water." 

"  Why  does  he  come  here,  then?  " 

"  To  see  and  be  seen.  One  of  the  girls — the 
least  unripe — is  engaged  to  Lord  Kent.  That 
woman  at  the  next  table  to  us  is  a  mystery ;  nobody 
seems  to  know  for  certain  who  she  is,  whether  she's 
a  Russian  spy,  or  the  natural  daughter  of  a  Grand 
Duke — or  both,  or  neither." 

Geraldstein  chatted  while  Marian  quietly  but 
entirely  enjoyed  herself.  There  was  a  spice  in 
the  knowledge  that  her  companion  admired  her, 
and  that,  boor  as  he  was  in  many  ways,  he  was 
sufficiently  refined  to  appreciate  her  and  to  like 
to  see  her  in  a  worthy  setting.  Her  costume  be- 
came her,  was  a  perfect  support  to  her  beauty; 
the  luxury  around  pleased  her;  for  the  time  being 
she  was  content,  and  she  did  not  permit  any  doubt 


THE   PEST  245 

of  the  future  to  depreciate  the  sure  delights  of 
the  present. 

The  wine  Geraldstein  had  chosen  was  one  of 
those  Bordeaux  for  which  M.  Goldoni's  cellar  is 
far  famed;  a  mellow,  tender  wine,  whose  subtle 
flavor  passes  like  the  vanishing  of  a  dream,  an 
innocent  wine  to  the  taste,  but  insidious,  full  of  the 
warmth  and  languor  of  the  sunshine  that  ripened 
the  grapes  from  which  it  is  crushed.  Marian 
drank  it  slowly,  fully  appreciative;  it  fired  her 
blood,  brought  added  color  to  her  cheeks  and 
softness  to  her  eyes.  The  subdued  hum  of  con- 
versation, the  quiet  light,  the  silent  waiters,  the 
delicious  flavor  of  the  foods,  the  wine — induced  a 
gentle  intoxication  and  a  sense  of  unreality.  She 
scarcely  heard  half  of  what  Geraldstein  said  to 
her.  After  a  while  he  too  became  almost  silent, 
watching  her  with  ever-increasing  delight  in  her 
beauty. 

"Are  you  enjoying  yourself?"  he  asked  by 
and  by. 

"  Very  much.  Did  you  think  I  wasn't  because 
I  didn't  talk?  I  am  enjoying  myself — very  much. 
I'd  heard  a  lot  about  Goldoni's,  but  it's  even 
better  than  they  said  it  was.  Everything's  puffect, 
so  are  most  of  the  people.  What  a  lovely  woman 
that  is — nearly  opposite  me — with  the  black  hair 
and  eyes." 


246  THE    PEST 

"  That's  the  Duchess  of  Bermondsey  and  the 
Duke.  They're  a  regular  young  Darby  and  Joan, 
always  together  and  always  looking  happy." 

"  Perhaps  they  are  happy " 

"Why  not?  There  are  many  varieties  of 
happiness.  I  was  amused  looking  over  a  woman's 
confession-book  once,  to  find  that  no  two  of  her 
friends  had — or  confessed  to  having — exactly 
the  same  idea  of  happiness.  I  wonder  what 
yours  is?  " 

She  turned  quickly  to  him,  his  question  jarring 
on  her  present  mood. 

"  I'm  a  woman  and  change  my  mind  every  five 
minutes." 

"  But  now"  he  persisted.  "  If  I  could  satisfy 
any  wish  you  had — what  would  you  wish?  " 

"  I  don't  wish  for  anything — I'm  quite  con- 
tent." 

"  Quite  content?  That  means  you're  miserable. 
Life  wouldn't  be  worth  living  if  there  wasn't 
something  left  we  want  and  can't  have.  I  always 
seem  to  be  wanting  something.  I  shall  look  on 
it  as  a  sign  of  old  age  when  I  begin  to  be  content. 
That's  the  one  drawback  to  this  place — it's  per- 
fect. There's  only  one  perfection  I've  ever  found 
that  I  wouldn't  have  altered." 

"What's  that?" 

"  You." 


THE    PEST  24? 

"  What  an  elaborately  led-up-to  compliment !  " 
Marian  said,  laughing  consciously.  "  How  often 
has  it  done  duty  ?  Do  you  pay  it  to  everyone  who 
dines  with  you  here?  " 

"  Not — quite  everyone,"  replied  Geraldstein, 
who  behind  his  exterior  heaviness  hid  a  diplo- 
matic readiness,  which  was  sometimes  near  akin 
to  wit.  "  No,  I  haven't  used  it  for  a  long  time. 
Not  since  I  met  you." 

"  Not  since  you  met  me?  " 

"  No,  for  you've  altered  my  standard  of  per- 
fection." 

'  That's  very  nice,  but  perhaps  that's  been  said 
before  too?  " 

"  I  don't  remember  saying  it  to  anyone  else. 
But  are  you  quite  fair?  If  I  didn't  do  homage 
you  would  think  me  a  fool,  and  when  I  do  you 
call  me  a  frivol.  It's  not  much  of  a  choice  for  a 
fellow,  is  it?  Ah!  Happy  interlude!  Coffee. 
Goldoni's  coffee,  and  Goldoni's  fine  champagne,  I 
give  you  no  choice.  And  a  cigarette?  It  is 
allowed." 

Marian  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  supremely 
content;  lazily  happy,  idly  watching  the  other 
diners,  satisfied  with  herself,  kindly  disposed  even 
to  her  host. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  not  having  asked 
anyone  else,"  he  said  after  a  while.  "  I  knew  how 


248  THE   PEST 

much  more  I  should  enjoy  myself  this  way,  and 
— I'm  nothing  if  not  selfish.  Have  you  enjoyed 
yourself?  " 

"  Need  you  ask?  Can't  you  see?  "  she  replied, 
looking  at  him  with  half-closed  eyes.  "  It  seems 
like  a  dream — don't  wake  me  from  it." 

"  Don't  let  us  wake  from  it  till — to-morrow." 


CHAPTER   XX 

THE  next  few  days  were  to  Marian  days  of  tu- 
mult. Her  abandonment  of  herself  to  Geraldstein 
had  wrought  in  her  a  far  more  serious  and  far 
different  change  to  that  which  had  resulted  from 
her  leaving  her  husband  and  going  to  live  with 
Maddison.  The  latter  loved  her,  Geraldstein  did 
not,  indeed  made  no  pretense  of  doing  so,  and 
her  feeling  toward  him  was  simply  one  of  desire 
for  physical  excitement  and  abandon.  With  Mad- 
dison it  was,  though  of  course  she  did  not  con- 
sciously argue  it  out  as  such,  an  illegal  marriage; 
with  Geraldstein  she  stood  merely  on  the  footing 
of  a  woman  with  a  price.  She  now  felt  utterly 
adrift,  floating  upon  the  ferocious  stream  of  sen- 
sual pleasure,  intoxicated  with  excitement,  and,  as 
is  always  the  case  with  every  form  of  intoxication, 
the  hours  of  recovery,  of  struggling  back  to  so- 
briety, were  hours  of  pain,  half-regrets,  half- 
formed  resolutions  toward  future  restraint,  and  of 
deep  depression  and  reaction. 

She  realized  fully  that  she  had  sold  herself  to 
Geraldstein  when  she  received  a  letter  from  him 
inclosing  her  dressmaker's  bill  receipted,  and  an 

*49 


250  THE    PEST 

apology  from  him  for  having  ventured  without 
first  asking  her  permission,  to  take  this  care  off 
her  hands.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  be  indignantly 
angry;  then  with  a  half  laugh,  half  shudder,  she 
threw  the  bill  aside.  As  she  had  sold  herself  she 
would  be  foolish  to  reject  any  portion  of  the  price. 

Very  quickly  all  regret  for  what  she  had  done, 
and  for  having  committed  herself  irretrievably  to 
the  life  of  a  common  woman,  faded  away.  The 
sensation  of  physical  intoxication,  of  delight  in  the 
delirium  of  yielding  to  every  sensual  impulse,  was 
fresh  and  keen,  and  had  not  yet  lost  anything  of 
its  savor.  Momentary  hesitations,  indeed,  came 
to  her,  but  arising  solely  from  the  fear  that  per- 
haps she  might  have  jeopardized  her  chances 
with  West.  She  had  not  yet  lost  all  ambi- 
tion, though  mere  love  of  pleasure  was  rapidly 
assuming  imperious  sway  over  her  deeds  and 
thoughts. 

Physical  reaction  and  depression  came  to  her 
now  and  again,  as  it  must  come  after  all  pleasures 
which  are  themselves  entirely  physical.  Lassitude, 
tiredness,  irritability  assailed  her,  and  more  and 
more  frequently  she  felt  compelled  to  seek  in  stim- 
ulants an  escape  from  ennui  and  weariness.  She 
talked  freely  and  with  frank  confidence  to  Mrs. 
Harding,  in  whose  companionship  she  no  longer 
felt  any  restraint.  Hitherto  this  woman,  with  her 


THE    PEST  251 

outspoken  brutality,  had  half  amused,  half  of- 
fended her;  but  now  there  was  full  community  of 
aims  and  practice  between  them;  their  lives  were 
alike,  so  were  their  pleasures  and  their  longings. 

She  laughed  with  her  over  her  dealings  with 
Geraldstein  and  joked  over  the  gross  deception 
she  was  practicing  on  Maddison.  She  canvassed 
with  her  the  schemes  she  had  formed  with  regard 
to  West,  and  the  difficulty  and  possibilities  of  ac- 
complishing her  aims.  All  this  and  more  that  she 
observed  for  herself,  Mrs.  Harding  reported  fully 
to  her  employer  Davis,  who  in  turn  communicated 
it  to  Mortimer,  who  in  turn  kept  his  counsel,  be- 
lieving it  to  be  best  to  wait  until  a  fitting  oppor- 
tunity arose  for  opening  Maddison's  eyes  to  the 
real  character  of  the  woman  for  whom  he  was 
sacrificing  so  much  of  the  present  and  perhaps  all 
of  the  future. 

Early  one  evening,  about  a  week  after  the  din- 
ner at  Goldoni's,  West  called  upon  Marian.  Al- 
though it  was  only  a  little  past  six  o'clock  he  was 
in  evening  dress. 

"  I'm  so  glad  to  find  you  at  home,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  all  alone  and  have  been  working  like  a  nig- 
ger never  does.  I  wonder  will  you  take  pity  on 
me  and  come  and  dine  with  me?  We  could  go 
on  to  the  theater  or  a  music  hall  afterward,  what- 
ever you  like  best.  I  do  hope  you're  not  already 


252  THE   PEST 

booked  up — and  will  take  pity  on  a  lonesome 
grass-widower." 

Marian  had  not  hoped  for  any  so  early  an 
opening  as  this,  and  felt  that  she  must  be  guarded 
in  taking  advantage  of  it.  West,  she  felt  assured, 
was  not  a  man  who  cared  to  buy  his  company 
cheaply. 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,"  she  answered. 
"  I  don't  often  go  out — George  doesn't  like  my 
going  about  much  while  he's  away.  But — I'm 
sure  he  wouldn't  mind  my  dining  with  you.  I'm 
a  bit  lonesome,  too;  it's  rather  dreary  sometimes 
when  he's  not  here." 

"  Well,  let's  cheer  each  other  up  and  be  sociable. 
I  got  a  regular  scare  this  afternoon;  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life  I  felt  not  young,  and  I'm  blowed 
if  I'm  going  to  grow  old  yet — not  me.  But  work, 
work,  work  and " 

He  broke  off  without  finishing  his  sentence  and 
stared  gloomily  into  the  fire. 

"You  old!"  said  Marian,  laughing,  "I  can't 
imagine  you  that.  I  thought  you  were  one  of  those 
men  too  full  of  energy  ever  to  grow  old.  I  expect 
you're  tired." 

"  I  guess  so,  but  I  shall  stay  tired,  unless  I  have 
something  to  stop  my  stewing  over  business.  I've 
had  a  tough  fight  for  the  last  few  days,  but  I've 
downed  a  man  who  tried  to  down  me;  but  he 


THE   PEST  253 

fought  well  and  has  tried  me.  Young  men  ought 
to  feel  all  the  fresher  after  a  fight." 

"  Fight !  It  must  be  good  to  be  a  man  and  able 
to  fight.  A  woman's  just  an  onlooker — a  silly, 
helpless  onlooker.  Oh!  How  I  should  love  to 
be  a  man  and  to  fight!  It's  sickening,"  she  ex- 
claimed, pacing  angrily  up  and  down  the  room,  her 
fists  clenched,  her  cheeks  glowing,  all  for  the  mo- 
ment forgotten  except  the  fiery  ambition  which 
had  been  smoldering  and  not  yet  extinct.  "  It's 
sickening  to  have  one's  hands  tied.  A  woman 
can't  do  anything,  she's  not  allowed.  She's  just  a 
doll,  an  ugly  doll  or  a  pretty  doll,  and  she  squeaks 
the  words  she's  expected  to  say." 

"You're  not  like  that,  though,"  West  said, 
watching  her  with  undisguised  admiration. 

Here  for  the  first  time  he  was  in  contact  with 
a  woman  both  beautiful  and  intellectually  gifted. 
He  envied  Maddison,  who,  he  felt  assured,  could 
never  call  forth  all  that  Marian  could  give  a  man. 
Maddison  did  not  deserve  her,  and  if  he  could 
he  would  win  her  away  from  him.  He  thought  of 
his  wife,  the  pretty  doll;  he  looked  at  Marian. 
This  was  the  woman  who  could  stir  his  pulse  and 
who  would  spur  him  on  to  fight. 

"You're  not  like  that,"  he  repeated;  "you 
forget  one  thing.  A  man  fights  for  himself;  a 
woman  may  not  be  able  to  do  that,  but  she  can 


254  THE    PEST 

make  a  man  fight  for  her  as  well  as  for  himself. 
That's  the  fight  worth  having.  Often  and  often, 
do  you  know,  when  I've  scored  heavily,  I've  just 
dropped  my  hands  and  wondered  what  on  earth  I 
was  working  for.  Ambition?  That's  not  worth 
a  damn.  Money?  I've  got  more  now  than  I 
know  how  to  spend;  I  just  spend  it,  risk  it,  for 
the  sake  of  making  more — a  regular  wild  gam- 
bler's risk  very  often.  But — well,  be  a  good  soul, 
pop  on  a  pretty  frock  and  come  along." 

"  I'll  come.  Would  you  like  a  drink?  A 
B.  and  S.,  or  anything — well,  not  anything,  for  my 
cellar's  jolly  low  at  present." 

"  Not  for  me,  thanks.  Appetizers  spoil  my  ap- 
petite, and  I've  a  rattling  good  one  at  the  present 
moment.  How  long'll  you  be — half  an  hour — or 
an  hour — eh?  " 

"  Half  an  hour,  really  not  more.  I  won't  keep 
you  waiting." 

"  Right.  Well,  I'll  be  back  in  half  an  hour, 
sharp." 

"  But  won't  you  wait  here?  " 

"  No,  thanks;  I'll  go  for  a  stroll  and  a  cigarette. 
Au  revoir." 

They  were  both  punctual,  in  fact,  Marian  was 
waiting  for  him. 

He  held  out  a  spray  of  green  orchids. 

"  I  went  out  to  get  you  these — do  wear  them." 


THE    PEST  255 

She  looked  magnificent,  he  thought;  a  con- 
queror. 

Under  Maddison's  guidance  she  had  cultivated 
her  innate  taste  for  Oriental  color  and  magnifi- 
cence; gold  and  silver  embroideries,  touches  of 
brilliant  flaming  orange  and  scarlet  seemed  to  defy, 
but  in  reality  enhanced,  the  splendid  richness  of  her 
red-gold  hair. 

She  stood  before  West  in  a  strange  greenish- 
blue  cloak,  with  heavy  gold  tassels  and  braid  and 
with  a  hoodlike  drapery  of  sable  round  her  shoul- 
ders. An  antique  Oriental  silver  comb,  studded 
with  green  and  blue  stones,  held  her  hair. 

"  How  strange,"  he  said,  as  she  fastened  the 
flowers  in  the  corsage  of  her  amber  gown,  "  how 
strange !  If  I'd  known  what  you  were  going  to  put 
on,  I  couldn't  have  chosen  the  flowers  better." 

"  There's  one  great  pull  you  women  have  over 
us,"  West  said,  as  he  looked  round  the  restaurant 
with  its  over-gorgeous  gilding  and  its  over-fed 
crowd  of  men  and  women,  "you  can  dress;  men 
merely  wear  clothes.  Just  look  at  all  these  silly 
black  coats  and  blank  white  shirt  fronts.  What  a 
difference  it  would  make  if  we  weren't  afraid  of 
colors  and  dressed  for  effect !  " 

"  It  tempts  women  to  wear  what  doesn't  suit 
them,  though." 

"  Either  you're   not  tempted,   or  you're   very 


256  THE    PEST 

clever  and  strong-minded.  Brave  too — there  are 
not  many  who  could  stand  those  colors  you  have, 
and  no  one  else  I  know  who  could  wear  them  as 
if  any  other  colors  would  be  wrong.  You  forget 
that  among  my  many  businesses  I'm  a  man  mil- 
liner. It's  the  most  difficult  job  I've  had  to  run 
that  department.  Men  are  easy  enough  to  con- 
tent, no  matter  what  they  want  to  buy — clothes, 
cigars,  wine;  they've  no  scope  for  choice,  it's  just 
a  question  of  good  or  bad;  but  women — and 
dresses !  My  goodness !  Now,  I  wonder  if  your 
taste  in  dinners  is — well,  I  was  going  to  say  as 
good  as  your  taste  in  dress,  but  what  I  really  mean 
is — the  same  as  mine.  No  soup;  just  fish,  a  bird 
and  a  sweet  and  one  wine?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  give  myself  away.  You're 
my  host;  the  guests  don't  choose  but  take.  But 
I'll  tell  you  candidly  afterward  whether  I've  en- 
joyed it  or  not.  Unless  you'd  rather  I'd  say  nice 
things  whether  I  mean  them  or  not." 

He  laughed. 

"  It's  difficult  to  know — difficult  to  choose  be- 
tween pretty  insincerity  or  candid — cold  water." 

"  I  should  have  thought  you  would  always 
choose  candor." 

"Why?" 

"A  woman's  why;  I've  no  reason,  but  I  sort 
of  feel  it.  Aren't  I  right?  " 


THE    PEST  257 

"  Do  you  really  expect  me  to  answer — candidly? 
To  confess  being  fond  of  being  humbugged,  or  to 
tell  a  story  and  say  I  like  candor  always?  Of 
course  I  don't;  I  like  being  made  a  fool  of,  so 
now  you  know  and  can  act  accordingly." 

"  I  ?  You've  handicapped  me.  It's  no  fun 
being  humbugged  when  you  know  it,  is  it?  " 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  West,  critically 
examining  the  sole  a  la  Marguery,  which  the 
waiter  submitted  for  his  inspection;  "  I  fancy  it 
rather  depends  upon  the  humbugger.  It's  funny 
in  business  to  know  a  man  is  trying  to  '  do  '  you, 
and  to  know  that  he  doesn't  know  you  suspect 
him.  And — I  think  most  men  are  rather  pleas- 
antly tickled  when  they  find  a  pretty  woman  who 
thinks  it  worth  while  getting  round  them.  That's 
where  you  have  a  man;  the  greatest  compliment 
you  can  pay  a  man  is  to  flatter  him  by  trying  to 
lay  hold  of  him." 

"  Doesn't  that  depend  upon  the  motive?  A 
rich,  ugly  man  must  get  rather  tired  of  being  run 
after." 

"  No,  it's  one  of  the  pleasant  powers  that  money 
brings  with  it;  there's  compensation  in  thinking 
that  the  handsome  poor  fool  longs  in  vain  to  have 
what  you  can  command." 

"  You  talk  as  if  you  were — "  Marian  broke  off 
short. 


258  THE    PEST 

"  I  know  you  were  going  to  say,"  exclaimed 
West,  laughing,  "  that  I  was  the  rich,  ugly  man. 
You're  quite  wrong,"  he  added,  his  eyes  still 
twinkling  with  fun;  "I'm  one  of  the  excep- 
tions :  I'm  rich,  and  young  and  handsome.  Don't 
think  me  conceited,  but  I  can't  bear  mock 
modesty." 

"  And  yet  I'm  sure  you're  ready  enough  to  call 
a  woman  conceited  if  she's  pretty  and  shows  that 
she  knows  it." 

"  Not  a  bit;  it's  part  of  the  charm  of  a  pretty 
woman  that  she  cannot  hide  her  self-consciousness. 
Do  you  know  I  haven't  enjoyed  a  dinner  so  much 
for  ages." 

"  They  do  cook  well  here." 

"  Cook!  Cook!  "  he  answered,  looking  at  her 
quizzically.  "  Do  you  really  think  I  referred  to 
the  food?  Of  course  you  don't.  You're  too 
sensible;  I  can  buy  food  of  the  best  every  day, 
but  I'm  sorry  to  say  I — can't  have  you  opposite 
me  always.  That's  very  badly  put,  isn't  it? 
Never  mind,  a  compliment  prettily  paid  is  gener- 
ally a  stock  one,  trotted  out  on  all  proper  and 
some  improper  occasions;  but  joking  apart,  it  is 
a  treat  to  meet  with  a  woman  who  can  keep  up 
her  own  end  in  a  game  of  conversation.  Espe- 
cially if  she's " 

"  I  know  what  you  were  going  to  say " 


THE    PEST  259 

"  Then  I  needn't  say  it.  People  are  so  desper- 
ately stupid,  or  if  they're  not  then  they're  so  des- 
perately in  earnest.  A  clever  woman  who  can 
frivol  is  delightful." 

"  So  is  a  clever  man." 

"  Let's  drink  our  mutual  admiration,  then," 
said  West,  looking  at  her  over  his  glass  of  spark- 
ling Rhine  wine ;  "  let's  form  a  mutual  admiration 
society,  strictly  limited  to  two ;  the  only  rule  being 
that  we  shall  dine  together  at  suitable  and  short 
intervals.  At  present  the  club's  confined  to  one 
member,  myself;  will  you  join  it?  And  consider 
to-night  the  first  meeting — of  many?  " 

"  It  would  be  very  jolly.  But  I  think  you'd 
better  wait  till  the  evening  is  over  before  you 
decide  whether  I'm  a  properly  qualified  member, 
don't  you?" 

"  No — I  don't,  and  I  guess  that  what  you  really 
mean  is  that  you're  not  so  sure  about  me.  We'll 
pass  a  new  rule  then  at  once:  any  member  tired 
of  any  other  member  is  to  confess  candidly  and 
to  retire  from  the  club.  Now  you're  safe " 

"  And — so  are  you." 

After  due  consultation  with  Marian  and  an 
evening  paper,  West  had  telephoned  for  a  box  at 
the  Empire,  luckily  securing  one  that  had  been 
returned  at  the  last  moment,  the  house  being  other- 
wise full,  it  being  the  first  night  of  a  new  ballet. 


260  THE   PEST 

Marian  was  passionately  fond  of  music  and  sat 
behind  the  curtain  of  the  box,  feeling  almost  as 
if  she  were  alone  in  the  vast,  crowded  theater,  lis- 
tening intently  to  the  swinging  rhythms  of  the  or- 
chestra. West  sat  close  beside  her,  watching  her 
face  in  the  glow  reflected  from  the  brilliantly-lit 
stage.  She  looked  singularly  lovely,  her  beauty 
soft  and  refined,  a  glow  of  quiet  content  in  her 
eyes;  he  noted  the  delicate  molding  of  her  arms 
and  her  tapering  fingers  as  she  held  up  her  opera 
glasses ;  he  saw  the  gentle  rise  and  fall  of  the  ruby 
star  nestling  in  her  bosom;  she  intoxicated  him. 
He  old!  No,  young,  young,  young — an  impas- 
sioned youth  in  love :  his  mistress  a  goddess  whom 
he  scarce  dared  approach !  Half  unconsciously  he 
laid  his  hand  on  hers  as  it  rested  on  her  lap. 

She  drew  it  gently  away. 

"  Don't,  please  don't.  Please  don't  spoil 
things." 

He  did  not  speak  for  some  time,  while  she  ap- 
parently again  became  absorbed  in  the  spectacle. 

"  I  suppose  you're  very  fond  of  Maddison?  " 
he  asked  by  and  by. 

"Fond  of  him?  What  a  curious  question  to 
ask !  Of  course  I  am.  Very." 

"  Somehow — I  thought  you  weren't.  I — hoped 
you  weren't." 

"  I  am."     Then  turning  full  toward  him,  she 


THE    PEST  261 

said  earnestly :  "  Why  must  you  spoil  things  by 
talking  this  way  ?  What  can  you  think  of  me  ?  " 

"Think  of  you?  You  make  me  afraid  to  tell 
you  what  I  think  of  you.  I — won't  say  anything 
more — I'll  be  good." 

To  a  crash  and  uproar  of  applause  the  curtain 
fell  and  Marian  quickly  rose. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  anything  more.  That  was 
beautiful.  Will  you  put  me  into  a  hansom?" 

"  Let's  go  on  to  supper  somewhere.  We  needn't 
really  have  supper  if  you're  not  hungry.  We  can 
just  pretend  and  have  another  chat." 

"  I  thought  ours  was  a  dining  club,"  Marian 
replied,  smiling.  "  No,  thank  you  very  much. 
I've  had  an  awfully  good  time,  but  I'm  tired." 

When  she  arrived  home  she  was  surprised  to 
see  that  the  dining  room  was  lit  up,  still  more 
surprised  to  find  Geraldstein  ensconced  there, 
smoking  a  cigar,  and  a  brandy  and  soda  on  the 
table  beside  him. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  exclaimed,  turning  round.  "  I 
believe  I  was  half  asleep.  I  hope  you  don't  mind 
my  having  made  myself  at  home?  " 

"  I  mind  your  being  here  at  all,"  Marian  an- 
swered, angry  at  the  thought  of  what  would  have 
occurred  if  West  had  returned  with  her.  "  You 
shouldn't  have  come  in  when  you  found  I  wasn't 
here." 


262  THE    PEST 

"  My  dear  girl,  what  nonsense.    Why  not?" 

"  Because— I  don't  like  it." 

"  You  handsome  little  tyrant,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing and  lazily  stretching  himself.  "  You  look  un- 
commonly like  Cleopatra,  but  I  can't  flatter  myself 
I'm  an  Antony.  Don't  be  cross." 

"  I  am  cross.     It's  late.    Good  night." 

"You're  alone,  aren't  you?"  he  asked  suspi- 
ciously. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  pretend  to  be  young-missish.  If 
you're  not  alone,  I  won't  leave  you  alone,  that's 
what  I  mean." 

The  reply  stung  her  as  would  a  lash  from  a 
whip;  he  had  a  right  to  make  it,  a  right  given  to 
him  by  her — in  that  lay  the  sting.  It  was  a  mere 
question  of  buying  and  selling  now  with  her;  and 
this  man  had  bought  and  demanded  payment. 

"  Where  have  you  been?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  doesn't  concern  you,"  she  replied  fiercely. 
"  I  don't  belong  to  you.  Go  away." 

"  Go  away !  Don't  be  rude,  and  don't  tempt 
me  to  be  rude  and  remind  you  of  facts." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  compel  me  to  keep  you 
here  to-night.  Will  you  go  ?  " 

He  stood  up,  yawned,  stretched  his  arms  and 
then  stood  looking  at  her  insolently. 

"  You're  deuced  pretty,  as  you  know,  and  look 


THE   PEST  263 

splendid  in  those  clothes — but  clothes  cost  money 
and  money  can't  be  got  for  nothing.11 

"You  beast!" 

"  Beauty  and  the  beast,  capital !  "  Then  he 
seized  her  by  the  wrists  and  looked  her  up  and 
down,  as  if  she  were  something  offered  for  sale  of 
which  he  was  trying  to  appraise  the  value.  "  You 
little  fool,  you're  young  and  pretty  now,  but  in  a 
few  years  you  won't  be  so  proud.  All  right.  There 
are  others  in  the  market  besides  you,  and  they  do 
pretend,  at  any  rate,  to  be  glad  to  see  me.  But 
mind,  she  that  will  not  when  she  may.  Well,  I'm 
off.  Ta-ta!" 

She  did  not  move  until  she  heard  the  outer 
door  shut  behind  him.  He  had  frightened  her, 
and  what  was  worse  had  driven  home  to  her  the 
fact  that  she  was  for  sale.  For  sale  to  any  man 
who  chose  to  buy — unless  West  should  rescue  her. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

IN  the  early  days  of  their  acquaintanceship  Mrs. 
Harding  had  felt  very  favorably  disposed  toward 
Marian,  but  gradually  appreciation  had  given 
place  to  envy,  and  liking  had  been  displaced  by 
dislike.  She  understood  that  Marian  was  her 
superior  not  only  in  beauty,  which  she  would  have 
forgiven,  but  in  education  and  social  standing, 
which  deeply  galled  her.  She  realized  how  badly 
she  compared  with  Marian  in  conversation  and 
the  amenities  of  life.  At  first  she  laughed, 
shrugged  her  sturdy  shoulders,  consoling  herself 
with  the  thought  that  after  all  men  do  not  fall  in 
love  with  a  tongue ;  but  gradually,  as  she  realized 
that  pretty  speech  is  an  excellent  support  to  a 
pretty  face,  she  began  to  hate  Marian's  dainty 
ways  and  facile  talk.  More  than  once,  too,  Mar- 
ian had  shown  by  some  little  gesture  or  some 
uncontrolled  look  that  Mrs.  Harding's  coarse 
coarseness  annoyed  and  jarred  upon  her.  The 
latter's  treachery  also  filled  her  with  the  spite 
that  so  often  comes  to  a  mean  spirit,  who  has 
wronged  another.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that 

Davis  had  called  on  her  to  spy  upon  a  woman 

264 


THE    PEST  265 

with  whom  she  was  upon  terms  of  familiarity,  but 
in  other  cases  the  victims  had  always  been  those 
to  whom  she  had  not  made  any  pretense  of  real 
friendship  and  whose  confidence  she  had  not 
sought.  But  Marian  had  trusted  her,  and  the 
betrayal  of  this  trust,  combined  with  jealousy, 
drove  her  for  refuge  from  compunction  to  hatred 
and  malice. 

A  further  point  was  this.  Some  of  the  prac- 
tices to  which  Mrs.  Harding  was  addicted  were 
obviously  distasteful  to  Marian;  it  was  a  tempta- 
tion to  her,  therefore,  to  reduce  Marian  to  her 
own  level,  and  to  this  temptation  she  now  yielded. 
The  episode  with  Geraldstein  pleased  her,  as  a 
step  in  the  direction  to  which  she  desired  to  drive 
Marian. 

One  of  the  practices  which  was  at  present  abhor- 
rent to  Marian  was  over-indulgence  in  drink. 
Once  she  had  been  spending  the  evening  at  a 
rather  noisy  restaurant  with  Mrs.  Harding;  they 
had  met  there  two  young  fellows,  of  that  age 
when  women  and  wine  are  temptations  all  the 
more  deadly  because  the  yielding  to  them  is  held 
in  reprobation  by  those  from  whose  authority  they 
have  but  recently  been  released.  Marian  was  ut- 
terly bored  by  the  pointless  and  often  indecent  jests, 
and  watched  with  disgust  the  quantity  of  wine 
which  her  friend  drank  and  its  influence  upon  her. 


266  THE    PEST 

Mrs.  Harding  saw  that  she  was  being  watched. 

"  Don't  mind  her,"  she  said  to  the  youth  who 
sat  beside  Marian,  pestering  her  with  his  plain- 
spoken  attentions.  "  She's  young  and  is  afraid  of 
being  jolly.  Some  night  she'll  get  a  bottle  of 
fizzy  inside  her,  and'll  be  all  over  the  place  before 
she  knows  where  she  is.  Once  bitten,  never  shy 
again.  Drink  up,  Marian,  it  won't  hurt  you. 
Let's  have  another  bottle,  boys." 

Marian  left  the  party,  her  departure  not  meet- 
ing with  any  real  protest,  and  the  next  morning 
received  a  visit  from  Mrs.  Harding,  whose  skin 
was  unwholesome  to  look  at  and  her  eyes  blowzed 
and  bloodshot. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  tell  me  it  serves  me  right," 
she  said,  "  but  my  head's  aching  fit  to  split.  I 
wouldn't  have  come  down,  but  I've  run  out  of 
brandy;  don't  preach,  dear,  but  just  be  good  and 
give  me  a  B.  and  S." 

For  a  week  or  so  after  the  dinner  with  West, 
Marian's  life  was  very  quiet  outwardly.  In- 
wardly she  lived  tossed  this  way  and  that  by  a 
turmoil  of  contrary  desires.  She  realized  with 
terror  that  she  was  losing  grip  upon  herself;  that 
her  physical  emotions  were  daily  growing  more 
and  more  imperious.  When  she  had  sundered 
herself  from  her  old  and  had  plunged  into  this 
new  life,  she  had  fully  counted  on  using  her 


THE   PEST  267 

bodily  gifts  to  procure  her  the  ends  for  which  her 
soul  thirsted.  But  this  life  was  different  to  what 
she  had  expected  it  to  be,  and  now  her  mental  de- 
sires were  rapidly  growing  weaker,  and  the  lust  of 
mere  pleasure  and  excitement  was  usurping  their 
place. 

Her  visit  to  Maddison  at  Rottingdean  and  her 
friendship  with  West  had  stayed  for  a  while  this 
degeneration,  and  now  she  had  come  to  look  upon 
the  latter  as  the  one  bulwark  remaining  between 
her  and  a  life  of  promiscuous  debauchery. 

The  time,  too,  was  approaching  for  her  to  go 
down  to  Rottingdean  again,  and  the  thought  of 
seeing  Maddison  was  very  distasteful.  His  let- 
ters came  regularly,  full  of  love  and  devotion, 
telling  how  much  he  missed  her,  how  often  he 
thought  of  her,  how  difficult  he  found  it  to  stick 
to  his  work,  how  dissatisfied  he  was  with  the 
result,  and  how  he  counted  the  hours  to  the  day 
when  he  should  see  her  again.  She  wrote  at  less 
length  and  less  frequently  than  he  did,  and  each 
time  the  effort  was  more  laborious  to  her.  She 
was  anxious  that  he  should  not  discover  her  dis- 
content, still  more  that  he  should  not  obtain  any 
inkling  that  he  was  not  as  dear  and  as  necessary 
to  her  as  she  was  to  him.  Now  and  again  dread 
came  to  her  when  she  thought  of  what  might  hap- 
pen when  she  dismissed  him. 


268  THE    PEST 

Her  loneliness  rendered  all  these  thoughts 
the  more  distressing  to  her;  she  was  unable  to 
escape  from  herself,  and  herself  was  the  very 
worst  and  most  hurtful  company  that  she  could 
have. 

Broken  sleep,  which  quickly  became  night-long 
sleeplessness,  was  the  inevitable  result. 

One  night  she  lay  awake,  restlessly  shifting  her 
position  from  time  to  time;  striving  to  rest  her 
mind  by  fixing  it  upon  matters  of  indifference,  but 
without  success.  Then  of  a  sudden  there  swept 
down  upon  her  a  terror  that  had  often  stricken 
her  when  a  child,  but  from  which  she  had  not 
suffered  of  recent  years.  What  if  this  sleepless- 
ness should  prove  incurable  and  kill  her  ?  Or  the 
beginning  of  a  dangerous  illness  ?  She  turned  cold 
and  faint  with  the  horror  of  the  thought  of  death. 
Not  of  the  physical  pain  with  which  it  might  be 
accompanied,  but  of  the  thing  itself.  She  could 
not  lie  there  any  longer  in  the  dark;  turning  up 
the  light  brought  no  comfort,  only  rendering  the 
idea  of  death  more  real.  She  imagined  herself 
lying  there,  a  nurse  in  the  room,  Maddison,  per- 
haps, by  her  side.  She  knowing,  they  knowing, 
that  Death  stood  outside  the  door,  his  grisly 
knuckle  sounding  for  the  admission  that  could  not 
be  denied.  There  was  added  an  oppressive  sense 
of  being  alone;  she  refrained  with  difficulty  from 


THE   PEST  269 

shrieking,  just  for  the  sake  of  hearing  some  living 
response. 

She  recalled  how  once,  soon  after  their  mar- 
riage, her  husband  had  suffered  from  a  long  spell 
of  sleeplessness,  brought  upon  him  by  over-work, 
and  how  she  had  told  him  again  and  again  that  if 
he  would  only  exert  his  will  he  could  overcome 
his  trouble.  She  remembered,  too,  that  the  doctor 
had  ordered  him  to  set  aside  his  teetotal  scruples, 
and  drink  each  night  before  going  to  bed  a  glass 
of  brandy  and  water,  and  how  much  she  had  dis- 
liked the  smell  of  the  spirit. 

She  slipped  out  of  bed,  shivering,  for  the  night 
was  bitter  cold,  and  having  wrapped  herself  in 
her  dressing  gown  made  her  way  to  the  dining 
room.  She  poured  out  about  a  wineglassful  of 
brandy  into  a  tumbler,  added  water,  and  drank 
it  hastily.  She  shuddered  as  she  put  the  glass 
down,  but  the  quick  warmth  of  the  liquor  com- 
forted her,  running  like  heat  through  her  frame. 

After  a  while  she  slept  heavily,  wakening  late 
in  the  morning,  parched  and  unrefreshed.  She  was 
not  hungry,  but  drank  her  tea  eagerly,  feeling  re- 
freshed for  a  time. 

The  following  night  she  placed  the  decanter  of 
brandy  and  the  water  carafe  on  the  table  by  her 
bedside,  and  as  soon  as  she  became  restless  had 
recourse  to  them.  This  time  the  spirit  did  not 


THE    PEST 

soothe  but  excited  her;  wild,  aimless  thoughts 
chased  one  another  rapidly,  until  it  seemed  as  if 
her  brain  would  burst.  She  drank  again,  pouring 
out  a  larger  amount  of  the  brandy  than  before; 
stupor,  then  restless  slumber  resulting. 

The  thought  of  each  approaching  night  came  to 
be  a  terror  by  day.  She  sat  up  late  reading — read- 
ing until  her  eyes  fell  heavy  with  sleep.  Then  to 
bed  and  to  sleeplessness. 

She  saw  no  one;  Geraldstein  had  dropped  her; 
West  did  not  come,  and  she  did  not  see  anything 
of  Mortimer.  Mrs.  Harding  came  in  once  or 
twice,  but  her  presence  was  an  irritation. 

Then  came  the  appointed  day  for  her  going  to 
Maddison,  and,  to  her  surprise,  it  was  with  a  sense 
almost  of  relief  that  she  found  herself  in  the  train, 
speeding  away  from  London. 

He  met  her  at  the  station,  and  although  he  said 
little,  she  could  not  but  discern  in  his  face  the  in- 
tense joy  it  was  to  him  to  see  her  again.  He 
looked  tired  and  troubled;  even  the  light  of  love 
that  sprang  into  his  eyes  as  they  rested  on  her 
did  not  dispel  from  them  the  curious  look  that 
shows  in  them  when  a  man  is  eagerly  searching 
after  that  which  he  cannot  find.  As  it  was  rain- 
ing they  drove  the  whole  way  to  the  cottage,  not 
talking  much  as  they  went,  he  seemingly  content 
to  be  quiet,  holding  her  hand  tightly  in  his  own. 


THE   PEST  271 

Mrs.  Witchout  greeted  Marian  cordially. 

"  You  don't  lookaswell,  though,  as  when  you 
went  away,"  she  said  critically;  "  does  she,  Mr. 
Maddison?  I  do  hear  as  rosy  cheeks  ain't  the 
fashun  in  Lunnon.  But,  there,  Lunnon  fashuns 
ain't  the  onlyonesworth  follering.  Lunch  is 
ready;  Mr.  Maddison  says  I  ought  to  call  it 
luncheon,  but  I  don't  see  that  it  matters  what 
you  callthingso  long  as  peopleknows  whatyer- 


means." 


"And  how's  the  work  getting  on?"  Marian 
asked,  as  they  went  into  the  studio. 

"  Lamely.  Only  hobbling.  I've  finished  Mrs. 
West.  What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  What  does  she  is  more  to  the  point?  " 

"No;  what  do  you?" 

Marian  looked  long  at  the  portrait  before  she 
answered.  It  was  evidently  very  like  the  orig- 
inal, but  there  was  something  in  the  face  that  puz- 
zled her. 

"  You  told  me  she  was  a  doll !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  but  I've  discovered  that  dolls  have  hearts 
as  well  as  sawdust  in  them." 

"Oh!" 

"  Is  that  all  you  notice?  " 

"  Ye-es,  I  think  so,"  she  answered.  "  I  like 
it." 

He  laid  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  and  moved 


272  THE    PEST 

her  so  that  the  light  fell  full  upon  her  face;  then 
scanned  her  features  closely. 

"  I'm  right,"  he  said,  "  right.  Go  and  look  in 
the  glass  there,  then  look  at  the  picture  again, 
and  see  if  you  don't  find  something  of  yourself 
reflected  in  what  I  meant  to  be  a  portrait  of  an- 
other woman." 

Marian  looked  closely  again  at  the  picture;  it 
was  true ;  as  he  said  there  was  a  distinct  semblance 
of  herself,  a  fleeting  likeness  which  it  was  im- 
possible to  define,  but  unmistakable. 

"  You  see,  Marian,  I've  tried  doing  without 
you  and  I  cannot;  we  must  never  leave  each  other 
again — why  should  we?  We  love  each  other — 
you  do  love  me  still,  dear,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  George,  of  course  I  do." 

"  Of  course  you  do !  That  sounds  so  cold.  It 
seems  to  me  this  way,"  he  said,  sitting  down,  draw- 
ing her  on  to  his  knee  and  resting  his  head  against 
her  shoulder;  "  life's  so  short,  and  there's  only  one 
thing  in  it  worth  having;  your  love's  just  all  to  me. 
So  why  waste  any  of  our  time  by  being  apart? 
We  can  go  away  and  live  quite  quietly  somewhere, 
or  live  here — It's  cheap  enough;  and  if  I  only  paint 
a  picture  a  year  we  shall  be  well  off,  even  if  they're 
not  my  best,"  he  added,  sighing  and  looking  at  the 
portrait. 

She  did  not  answer  him,  but  fondled  his  hair 


THE    PEST  273 

and  pressed  him  close  to  her,  which  she  knew 
would  speak  to  him  more  eloquently  than  any 
words  she  could  put  together.  Never  before 
had  she  felt  quite  so  helpless  to  deal  with  this 
love  of  his,  which  had  grown  so  much  more  in- 
tense than  she  had  counted  upon  its  becoming. 
At  any  rate  the  time  was  not  yet  come  for  her 
to  show  him  anything  of  coldness,  and  her  cool 
fingers  ran  through  his  thick  dark  hair  and  he  was 
comforted. 

"  I  must  put  you  into  another  picture ;  make 
myself  immortal  by  painting  you  always;  you 
must  be  my  Emma.  What  shall  it  be  next?  As 
a  Bacchante?  Your  eyes  wild  with  excitement  and 
your  cheeks  glowing  like  red  roses?  Your  lips 
just  parted  and  your  little  teeth  peeping  out  be- 
tween ?  I  could  do  it ;  by  Jove,  I  will  do  it.  We'll 
begin  to-morrow ;  we  mustn't  work  to-day.  That's 
my  mistake !  I  ought  never  to  have  tried  to  paint 
without  you  as  my  model." 

'  You're  forgetting  me  I  "  she  said,  an  idea  com- 
ing to  her,  which  held  out  promise  of  sufficient 
excuse  for  leaving  him  again  soon. 

"  Forgetting  you — do  you  think  that  I  ever 
forget  you  for  a  single  moment?  You  know — 
I  often  used  to  think  myself  in  love,  but  it  never 
lasted.  Then  I  began  to  believe  that  love  wasn't 
very  much  after  all,  and  that  people  were  fools 


174  THE    PEST 

or  ignorant  who  said  it  was  the  only  thing  in  life 
worth  having.  You've  taught  me  better,  dear. 
But  what  did  you  mean  by  saying  I'd  forgotten 
you?" 

"  You've — left  me  out  of  your  plans  1  " 

"Left  you  out?  Why,  you're  just  every- 
thing!" 

"  Not  quite.  You  couldn't  go  on  loving  a 
woman  who  had  no  pride,  could  you  ?  " 

"  I  could  love  you  whatever  you  were." 

"  But  that's  not  right,  George.  When  I — 
came  to  you,  you  were  a  great  man,  but  not  nearly 
so  great  as  you  were  going  to  be.  And  now  I 
have  spoiled  all  your  future  and  you  don't  seem 
to  have  any  ambition  left.  No,"  she  said,  forcing 
herself  away  from  him  and  with  a  gesture  for- 
bidding him  to  follow  her,  "  I'm  not  going  to  spoil 
your  life.  If  I  come  between  you  and  your  work — 
I'll— leave  you." 

"Leave  me!" 

The  agony  in  his  voice  startled  her. 

"  Leave  me !  "  he  repeated,  striding  across  to 
her  and  holding  her  fiercely  to  him.  "  I  think  I'd 
kill  you  before  I'd  let  you  do  that." 

"Don't,  George,  don't,"  she  gasped;  "you're 
frightening  me." 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  love,  but — why  do  you  say  sucK 
horrid  things  to  me?  " 


THE   PEST  275 

"  What  I  said  was  right.  If  I  can't  help  you 
with  your  work,  George,  I'll  do  this;  if  in  a  few 
days  you  can't  begin  a  picture  without  me  in  it, 
can't  prove  that  you  can  work  with  me  near  you 
—I'll  go  away  and  I'll  stay  away  until  you  can 
tell  me  that  I  can  come  back  safely  to  you." 

"  So  that's  your  plan !  But  it  will  take  two  to 
carry  it  out,  and  I  won't  make  the  second.  I  sim- 
ply won't  let  you  go.  So  that's  settled." 

'  You  don't  want  me  to  be  happy  ?  Is  your  love 
so  selfish  as  all  that?  " 

"  So  selfish !  "  he  said,  freeing  her,  dropping  his 
arms,  standing  amazed.  "  Selfish!  Oh,  my  love, 
you're  right,  right.  It  was  damnably  selfish ;  I  was 
just  thinking  of  myself.  But — are  you  happy 
when  you're  not  with  me?  " 

"  You  know  I'm  not,  George.  But — I'm  so 
proud  of  you,  and  I  should  hate  myself  if  I 
knew  I  was  standing  in  your  way.  I  should  be 
unhappy  with  you  then.  Besides,  dear,  is — 
is " 

"Yes?" 

11  Is  it  right  to  love  me  like  that?  Love  ought 
to  help  you,  not  harm  you." 

"  Help  me !  It  has  helped  me  to  understand 
what  happiness  is.  I  didn't  know  that  before." 

u  Well,  George,  you  mustn't  kill  my  pride ; 
keep  me  proud  of  you,  proud  of  having  helped 


276  THE    PEST 

you,  proud  of  myself.  There,  we'll  talk  no  more 
about  it  now,  and  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day, 
you  shall  start  another  picture,  only  I  will  not  be 
your  model." 

"  But " 

"  No !  We're  not  going  to  argue  the  first  day 
we  are  together.  Look,  the  rain's  over  and  the 
sun's  trying  to  come  out.  I'll  run  up  and  put  on 
my  country  boots  and  hat,  and  we'll  go  for  a  walk 
over  the  downs." 


CHAPTER   XXII 

FOR  the  first  time  West  hesitated  in  his  dealing 
with  a  woman.  Partly  it  was  that  Marian  puz- 
zled as  well  as  attracted  him,  partly  it  was  that  the 
precipitancy  of  his  marriage  with  Agatha  and  its 
failure  gave  him  pause  before  he  took  the  step  of 
trying  to  win  Marian  away  from  Maddison.  He 
admired  her,  but  he  was  by  no  means  sure  that 
the  admiration  was  mutual;  indeed  part  of  her 
attraction  for  him  was  that  she  had  not  in  any  way, 
so  far  as  he  could  see,  endeavored  to  bring  him 
to  her  side.  Hitherto  the  women  whom  he  had 
met  had  made  little  effort  to  conceal  the  fact  that 
his  money  rendered  him  a  welcome  suitor. 

It  was  his  custom  every  morning  to  walk  in 
Hyde  Park  before  going  to  business ;  it  was  usually 
the  only  hour  in  the  day  which  was  not  inter- 
rupted and  in  which,  therefore,  he  could  think 
clearly.  This  mental  constitutional  was  broken 
up  one  day  by  meeting  Alice  Lane.  They  came 
suddenly  face  to  face  at  a  sharp  turning  close  by 
the  Serpentine. 

"  You're  most  unfashionably  early !  "  he  said, 
falling  into  step  with  her. 

*77 


THE    PEST 

"  I'm  unfashionable  in  everything,  I  think.  I 
didn't  know  you  were  in  town." 

"  Is  that  a  kind  of  way  of  reminding  me  that 
I  ought  to  have  called?  I've  been  awfully 
busy." 

"  How's  Agatha?     Is  she  still  at  Brighton?  " 

"  Yes.  She's  much  better  and  beginning  to  en- 
joy herself.  What  have  you  been  doing?  " 

"  Just  nothing." 

"  I  can't  believe  that  of  you.  You'd  go  crazy  if 
you  hadn't  something  to  do." 

"  Why,  I  stopped  weeks  with  you  and  didn't 
do  a  single  thing  the  whole  time." 

"That's  true,"  he  admitted,  laughing;  "but 
you  always  manage  to  give  the  impression  of  being 
busy.  Like  one  of  my  men,  whom  I  had  to  fire 
out  the  other  day — he  was  always  awfully  busy  and 
didn't  get  any  work  done." 

"  I've  no  work  to  do." 

West  felt  curiously  constrained;  not  that  any- 
thing in  her  tone  or  manner  jarred  upon  him;  she 
was  frankly  kind  as  she  always  was  to  him.  He 
did  not  feel  that  he  had  anything  to  say  to  her 
and  small  talk  failed  him. 

They  walked  on  for  some  little  distance  without 
speaking. 

"  My  brother's  engaged  to  be  married,"  she  said 
suddenly. 


THE   PEST  279 

"  Really!  That's  good.  I  must  write  and  con- 
gratulate him.  But  it'll  be  a  nuisance  for  you, 
won't  it?  I  suppose  it  will  be  the  customary 
4  two's  company.'  ' 

"  I  shan't  try  to  make  it  anything  else.  It 
wouldn't  be  fair  to  her." 

"  Fair  to  her !  That's  like  you ;  that's  you  all 
over.  I'd  bet  anything  you  haven't  bothered  to 
think  about  yourself.  What  a  show  up  you  good 
women  make  of  us  men !  " 

"  Don't  say  things  like  that  about  me,"  she 
answered,  so  fiercely  that  he  stared  at  her  aston- 
ished, "  don't.  It's  so  utterly  untrue.  What  on 
earth  does  a  man  ever  know  about  a  woman  ?  I'm 
hateful  to  myself,  and  I'd  be  hateful  to  you  if 
you  knew  me." 

"  I'm  sorry — something's  wrong  and  I've 
touched  you  on  the  raw;  I'm  sorry.  Not  that  I 
believe  you  a  bit  you're  worrying  about  some- 
thing that  wouldn't  give  me  a  twinge.  I — suppose 
I  can't  help  you  any  way?  " 

"  You — no,  no,  thanks."  She  clenched  her  fin- 
gers tightly  inside  her  muff.  "  No  one  can  help 
me  and  I  can't  help  myself." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  repeated.  "  You're  such  a 
good  sort,  I  hate  to  see  you  suffering;  I'm  afraid 
it's  something  pretty  bad." 

"  I'd  rather  not  talk  about  myself.     Tell  me 


280  THE    PEST 

about  yourself.  Don't  you  feel  lonesome  up  here 
without  Agatha  ?" 

44  Oh,  we're  settling  down  Into  conventional 
married  life.  Quite  pleased  to  be  together,  but  not 
inconsolable  when  we're  apart.  Aggy's  growing 
up  and  finding  other  amusements  in  life  besides 
honeymooning." 

44  And  you  ?  "  she  asked,  not  looking  at  him, 
but  fixing  her  gaze  straight  ahead. 

4<  I  ?    Didn't  I  tell  you  I'm  very  busy?  " 

44  And  that's  all  you  care  about?  " 

44  I'm  beginning  to  think  so.  It's  really  the 
only  game  worth  playing.  Now,  here  we  are  at 
Hyde  Park  corner.  Shall  I  take  a  turn  back 
with  you  and  be  late  at  the  office?  Or  be  a 
good  boy,  remember  that  work's  first,  pleasure 
second?  " 

4'  Be  a  good  boy,"  she  replied,  holding  out  her 
hand. 

She  stood  still,  watching  him  as  he  strode 
rapidly  away,  and  when  he  was  out  of  sight,  still 
stood  there,  her  lips  tightly  pressed  together,  sup- 
pressing the  cry  of  hopelessness  that  tried  to  force 
its  way  from  her  heart. 

West  telegraphed  later  on  in  the  morning  to 
Marian,  saying  that  he  would  call  in  the  evening 
on  the  chance  that  she  would  be  free  to  dine  with 
him  and  go  on  to  a  theater  afterward,  and  Marian 


THE    PEST  281 

on  her  arrival  from  Brighton  found  the  tele- 
gram awaiting  her  and  welcomed  it.  Her  stay 
at  Rottingdean  had  rested  her,  had  done  good 
to  her  physically,  but  had  sent  her  back  thirsty 
for  amusement.  She  had  intended  to  write  to 
West,  but  good  fortune  had  brought  him  to  her 
uncalled. 

She  dressed  herself  with  peculiar  care,  and  was 
ready  for  him  when  he  arrived. 

"  By  Jove,  this  is  luck,"  he  said,  "  unless  you've 
dressed  to  go  out  somewhere  else?  Don't  tell  me 
that  and  turn  a  lonely  man  out  on  a  lonely 
world." 

"  No,  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  going  to  do 
with  myself  when  I  found  your  wire  here.  I  only 
came  up  from  Brighton  to-day." 

"  You've  been  down  there?  Well,  where  shall 
we  go  ?  " 

"  Anywhere,  only  somewhere  where  there  are 
lots  of  people.  I  went  down  there  for  a  change; 
I've  come  up  here  for  a  change." 

"Aren't  I  change  enough?  There's  conceit! 
Here,  slip  on  your  cloak,  and  we'll  discuss  our 
destination  in  the  cab  as  we  go  along." 

Marian  had  chosen  to  go  to  the  Gaiety  and 
West  had  telephoned  to  the  theater,  being  lucky 
enough  to  secure  two  good  stalls.  The  first  act 
was  well  under  way  when  they  entered  the  dark- 


a82  THE   PEST 

ened  theater,  slipping  quietly  into  their  seats,  amid 
the  more  or  less  skillfully  disguised  annoyance  of 
their  neighbors. 

When  the  curtain  fell,  Marian  looked  round 
the  well-dressed  house,  with  its  atmosphere  of 
well-to-do-ness  and  good  dinners.  West  noted  the 
graceful  curves  of  the  arm  as  she  held  up  her 
opera-glasses,  and  when  she  laid  them  down  on  her 
lap  and  turned  to  him,  noticed,  too,  how  brightly 
her  eyes  shone  and  how  well  her  flushed  cheeks 
became  her. 

"You  do  love  pleasure,  don't  you?"  he  said. 

"I  do.    Don't  you?" 

"  Yes.  But  somebody  told  me  the  other  day 
that  I  was  getting  old.  Perhaps  that  explains 
why  I  don't  seem  able  to  let  myself  go  as  I  used 
to  do." 

"  Doesn't  that  depend  a  good  deal  upon  who 
you  are  with?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  been  keeping  dull  company  lately, 
chiefly  my  own." 

"  That's  not  a  pretty  compliment  to  me !  " 

"  I  said  '  lately,'  not  to-night.  I  don't  think 
even  a  plaster  saint  could  be  dull  with  you." 

"  I  can  be  dull  with  myself." 

"  That  may  be ;  it  takes  flint  and  steel  to  strike 
a  spark." 

"Which  am  I?" 


THE    PEST  283 

"  Does  it  matter — so  long  as  the  flame 
comes?  " 

He  was  looking  vaguely  round  as  he  spoke  to 
her,  but  suddenly  his  eyes  rested  on  Alice  Lane 
sitting  in  a  box  with  two  other  ladies  and  her 
brother.  She  saw  and  recognized  him  at  the 
same  moment.  He  felt  uncomfortable;  he  did 
not  mind  who  else  saw  him,  but  he  would  have 
preferred  not  having  been  seen  by  her  in  Marian's 
company;  he  knew  that  she  would  understand 
the  character  of  the  woman  he  was  with,  even  if 
she  did  not  already  know  her  by  sight  and  repu- 
tation. Though  after  all,  why  should  it  worry 
him?  Women  did  not  seem  to  take  any  account 
of  such  things  nowadays.  But  it  did  annoy  him, 
argue  as  he  would,  for  he  was  sure  that  Alice  was 
not  one  of  the  many. 

"  Have  you  found  some  friends?  "  asked  Mar- 
ian, following  the  direction  of  his  eyes. 

"  Acquaintances.  One  always  meets  some  one 
one  knows  here." 

The  electric  bells  were  ringing  for  the  begin- 
ning of  the  next  act,  and  in  the  bustle  made  by 
men  returning  to  their  seats,  and  the  striking  up 
of  the  orchestra,  conversation  dropped,  though 
Marian  scanned  curiously  the  calm,  strong  face  of 
the  woman  in  the  box,  who,  instinct  told  her,  was 
the  one  who  knew  West. 


284  THE    PEST 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  put  his  fortune  to 
the  touch  with  Marian  this  evening,  feeling  fairly 
certain  from  her  manner  toward  him  at  dinner 
that  she  liked  him  and  would  desert  Maddison  for 
him.  He  had  decided  to  take  another  flat  for  her, 
it  not  being  his  taste  to  keep  his  lady-bird  in  a  nest 
that  another  man  had  feathered.  At  any  rate, 
no  real  harm  could  come  of  the  experiment;  if 
she  proved  difficult  or  dull,  a  check  would  cut 
him  loose. 

He  watched  the  performance  without  interest. 
The  sight  of  Alice  Lane  had  stirred  something  in 
him  that  had  taken  away  his  relish  of  Marian's 
company.  He  could  not  but  compare  the  two. 
Alice  so  strong,  so  trusty,  such  a  good,  true  com- 
rade. Marian  pretty,  bright,  empty-hearted, 
ready  to  sell  herself  to  anyone  who  could  assure 
her  luxury  and  pleasure,  or  even  luxury  alone. 
Then  his  thoughts  ran  on  to  his  wife,  a  nonentity 
to  him.  What  a  difference  it  would  have  made 
had  he  not  married  her,  had  he  really  known 
Alice  first,  and  been  able  to  make  her  love  him. 
There  would  be  no  tiring  of  her,  he  knew. 
Or  if  Marian  were  Alice — there  had  been  such 
women,  or  scarcely  exactly  such,  but  rather 
women  like  Alice,  who  counted  the  world's  opin- 
ion as  nothing,  and  were  ready  and  happy  to 
throw  aside  every  other  joy  in  life,  in  exchange 


THE   PEST  285 

for  the  men  they  loved.  But  Alice  was  not 
like  that,  and  did  he  love  her?  Of  that  he  did 
not  feel  so  certain.  He  was  very  fond  of  her, 
but  surely  not  in  love,  or  he  would  have  missed 
her  more  than  he  had  done.  He  felt  rather  that, 
if  he  were  free  to  love  her,  he  could  and  would 
do  so,  would  do  so  passionately  and  forever. 
But  she  was  not  for  him;  it  was  sheer  folly 
to  let  his  thoughts  stray  toward  the  impossible. 
The  possible  sat  beside  him,  and  with  that  he 
must  try  to  content  himself;  try  to  be  content 
with  pretty  make-believe  instead  of  a  beautiful 
reality. 

He  would  wait,  however,  until  to-morrow  or 
the  next  day.  Marian  would  not  run  away,  and 
perhaps  would  behave  all  the  better  for  finding 
that  he  was  not  easily  caught. 

So  as  they  went  out  of  the  theater  he 
said: 

"  I  hope  you  won't  think  me  very  rude  not  ask- 
ing you  to  supper,  but  I've  an  appointment  at  my 
club  I  must  keep." 

"  I  think  it's  awfully  kind  of  you  to  have 
given  me  such  a  jolly  evening — that's  all  I 
think." 

But  he  knew  well  enough  from  the  dark  look 
that  she  could  not  keep  out  of  her  eyes,  that  she 
was  disappointed  and  angry.  It  amused  him,  and 


286  THE   PEST 

assured  him  that  he  had  only  to  ask  and  she  would 
give. 

She  clenched  her  teeth  angrily  as  the  hansom 
spun  along  homeward.  She  had  meant  that  he 
should  ride  by  her  side  this  night. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE  next  morning  West  walked  as  usual 
through  the  Park,  and  to  his  surprise  again  met 
Alice  Lane,  who  greeted  him  cordially. 

"  You  offered  me  the  chance  of  a  talk  with  you 
yesterday,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  and  I  was  rude 
enough  to  refuse.  Will  you  give  me  another 
chance?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  you  know  I  will,"  he  an- 
swered, eyeing  her  keenly,  wondering  if  after  all 
she  were  about  to  tell  him  that  he  could  help  her 
in  the  difficulty  created  by  her  brother's  engage- 
ment ;  hoping,  indeed,  that  it  was  so. 

He  had  walked  home  the  night  before,  and  had 
sat  up  late  over  the  fire,  thinking  the  whole 
while  about  her.  It  had  been  borne  in  upon  him 
that  in  reality  he  did  love  her;  not  as  he  had 
loved  other  women  from  mere  physical  attraction, 
but  with  a  strong,  deep  affection  that  made  her 
necessary  to  him,  as  he  now  understood.  So 
long  as  she  did  not  care  for  anyone  else,  so  long 
as  he  could  have  her  frequent  companionship 
and  sympathy,  he  would,  he  hoped,  be  content. 
So  far  as  anything  else  could  be,  he  had  given  a 


288  THE    PEST 

hostage  to  fortune;  his  wife  stood  between  him 
and  the  one  woman  who  had  raised  his  desires 
above  mere  sensuality. 

"  You  were  at  the  theater  last  night,"  she  said. 

He  laughed  as  he  answered: 

"  So  were  you.    I  saw  you  and  you  saw  me." 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  stupid  remark.  I  was  going  to 
say  that  I  know  who  was  the  woman  with  you." 

She  spoke  nervously,  hesitatingly,  in  strong 
contrast  to  her  usual  quiet,  serene  way  of  speak- 
ing. 

"  I  saw  her  at  Brighton  with  Mr.  Maddison, 
and  Agatha  told  me  about  her.  But  even  if  I'd 
not  heard  anything  about  her,  I  should  have 
known  what  she  is.  Are  you  disgusted  at  my 
talking  like  this?  Are  you  going  to  tell  me — 
quite  kindly,  I  know — to  mind  my  own  business? 
I  think  it  is  my  business.  I'm  your  friend,  and 
with  me  friendship  doesn't  mean  sitting  by  and 
watching  a  friend — lowering  himself." 

"  You're  a  real  friend,"  he  said,  holding  out 
his  hand  and  pressing  hers — "  a  real  friend.  But 
friendship's  blind  as  well  as  love.  You  put  me 
higher  than  I  am;  I'm  not  lowering  myself." 

"  Not  higher  than  you  were  once,  at  any  rate. 
And  what  you  were  once,  you  can  be  again.  You 
don't  love  Agatha,  then?" 

He  hesitated  a  moment  before  replying. 


THE   PEST  289 

"  No,  and  I  see  now  I  never  did,"  he  answered. 
"  I  didn't  know  anything  about  her  when  I  mar- 
ried her,  or  about  myself  either.  I  thought  I  could 
go  on  loving  her  and  that  we  should  be  happy  to- 
gether. We  aren't.  I  can't  make  her  happy  and 
she  can't  make  me.  You  knew  that  when  you 
asked  me,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  wanted  to  hear  you  say  so." 

"Why?" 

"  You  don't  care  for  that  other  woman?  "  she 
asked,  ignoring  his  question. 

"  You  know  that  too.    You  know  I  don't." 

"And — you  can't  live  alone?"  she  spoke  al- 
most in  a  whisper  so  that  he  could  scarcely  catch 
her  words. 

"  That's  just  it.  I  can't  bear  being  alone  now. 
I  used  not  to  mind  it  a  bit,  but  somehow  I  seem 
to  have  been  changing  lately — since  I  found  out 
that  Agatha  couldn't  be  a  real  companion  to 
me.  I  never  wanted  one  before ;  I  suppose  think- 
ing I  had  found  one  and  finding  I  had  not,  has 
made  me  long  for  one.  So— don't  blame  me  too 
much." 

"  I'm  not  blaming  you,"  she  said  fiercely  al- 
most. "  You  don't  think  I'm  preaching  to  you? — 
don't  think  that.  How  little  you  know  of  me! 
I  suppose  you  imagine  I'm  a  cold-blooded  saint? 
I'm  not.  I'm  a  woman.  I  can  forgive  any  man, 


290  THE    PEST 

or  any  woman  either,  anything  that  they  do  for 
love,  real  love.  But — women  like  the  one  you 
were  with  last  night  I  can't  forgive — they're  pests, 
beasts  themselves  and  making  beasts  of  others.  Is 
that  the  kind  of  thing  you  expected  me  to  say  ?  I 
can  see  it  isn't." 

West  did  not  answer.  He  was  utterly  amazed 
at  his  complete  ignorance  of  one  he  believed  he 
knew  well. 

"  You've  never — really  understood  what  love 
means,"  she  went  on;  "I  sometimes  think  that 
only  women  do." 

"  You're  wrong  there,  Alice.  I,  for  one,  know. 
Only — only,  I  found  out  too  late.  I  did  not  find 
out  until  after  I  was  married  and  the  woman  I 
love — well — you  understand.  I've  got  what  I 
don't  want  and  I  can't  get  what  I  do." 

"  You're  not  a  coward?  " 

"  A  coward?    I  hope  not.     One  never  knows." 

"  But  isn't  it  rather  cowardly  because  you 
think  you  can't  have  what  you  long  for,  to 
go  and  play  at  love — with  such  women  as 
that?  " 

"  It  means  nothing.  No  more  than  a  good 
dinner  or  a  beautiful  picture  or  a  play.  Just 
passes  the  time." 

"  It  means  more  than  that,"  she  said,  speak- 
ing very  earnestly  and  quickly,  "  ever  so  much 


THE    PEST  291 

more  than  that.  It  means  that  you  are  degrading 
love,  by  taking  part  of  it  and  making  it  common 
and  vile.  That's  what  it  means,  and  you  see  it 
clearly  enough  when  a  woman  does  it.  Don't 
you?" 

*  Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

'  You  do,  you  do,"  she  exclaimed,  standing 
still  and  looking  straight  at  him;  but  he  dropped 
his  eyes  before  hers,  and  ground  his  heel  into  the 
soft  gravel,  "  you  do !  I  don't  care  what  a  man 
or  a  woman  does  for  love.  I'm  not  talking  un- 
thinking nonsense  about  the  sanctity  of  marriage 
— there's  just  one  thing  in  the  world,  and  every- 
thing done  in  its  name  is  forgivable." 

»  You  mean ?  " 

11  Love." 

He  looked  at  her  now. 

"  Love?  "  he  said.  "  My  God,  there's  no  man 
in  the  world  worthy  of  you.  Alice,  I  thought  you 
were  really  in  trouble  yesterday,  and  I  wanted  to 
help  you — is  it  that?  " 

"Is  it— what?" 

"  Are  you  in  love,  and — are  things  going 
wrong?  Perhaps  I  can't  help  you  really,  but  at 
any  rate  I  can  sympathize." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  still  looking  at  him.  He 
had  never  realized  fully  the  beauty  of  her  face, 
softened  now  from  its  wonted  passivity,  or  the 


292  THE   PEST 

deep  splendor  of  her  eyes.  "  I  do  love,  so  I  can 
understand." 

"  I'm  so  sorry,"  he  said,  angry  with  himself  at 
the  downright  incompetency  of  his  words. 

44  You  needn't  be.  I  didn't  know  how  incom- 
plete my  life  was  until — I  loved.  It's  made  me 
happy.  Doesn't  it  help  you,  too?  Even  though 
it  must  be  hopeless?  " 

"Yes,  it's  strange;  I  didn't  know  until  last 
night  that  I  really  did  love  anyone.  When  I  said 
good-by  to  her — at  the  theater — I  walked  home, 
and  I  sat  alone  by  my  fire  and  thought.  A  lot  of 
things  I  hadn't  understood  came  clear,  and  now — 
I  hardly  think  I'm  the  same  man  I  was  yesterday. 
But — I  know  myself  too  well;  I  shall  soon  drift 
back  to  what  I  was.  If  she  loved  me — it  would 
be  different.  Now,  don't  talk  any  more  about 
myself.  Tell  me — can  I  help  you  in  any 
way?" 

"  Yes,  you  can." 

"  How?  I'm  so  glad.  You're  such  a  thunder- 
ing good  sort  that — I'd  give  a  great  deal  to  be 
able  to  do  you  a  good  turn.  What  a  fool  the 
fellow  must  be !  " 

44  You  can  help  me  a  great  deal,  by  helping  me 
to  honor  and  respect  the  man — I  love." 

4'  Why,"  he  asked,  puzzled  and  surprised, 
44  how  can  I  do  that?  " 


THE    PEST  293 

"  By  remembering  what  I've  said  about  not 
lowering  yourself." 

Still  she  looked  straight  at  him,  and  he  at  her. 
Gradually  he  came  to  understand  what  she  meant. 

"  Alice — it's  me  you  love !  No,  don't  answer 
me  till  I've  spoken.  I  told  you  that  I  found 
myself  last  night,  and  found  out  that  I  loved  a 
woman,  really  and  truly  loved  her.  You're  the 
•woman,  Alice,  but  I  never  dreamed  that  you  could 
care  for  me.  Tell  me  now — is  it  me  ?  " 

There  was  no  necessity  for  her  to  speak.  The 
light  in  her  eyes  was  more  eloquent  than  any 
words  could  have  been,  and  careless  whether 
anyone  was  watching,  he  seized  her  hands  in 
his. 

"  Alice,  you  do  love  me?  " 

Then  he  drew  himself  apart  quickly,  saying: 

"  I  forgot." 

"What  is  it?" 

11  Agatha." 

"  I  don't  pretend  not  to  know  what  you  mean," 
she  said  slowly.  "  Do  you  think  I  haven't 
thought  of  her?  If  she  had  loved  you,  or 
been  able  to  love  you,  you  should  never  have 
known.  But  as  things  are — there's  only  one  way 
— we  love." 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

MARIAN  was  very  angry  at  West's  unexpected 
desertion  after  the  theater.  When  she  reached 
home  she  sat  down  by  the  bright  fire  in  the 
drawing  room,  which  she  had  told  the  servant  to 
keep  up  well,  and  gave  full  rein  to  her  disap- 
pointment. 

It  would  soon  be  time  to  go  down  again  to 
Rottingdean;  Maddison  had  written  to  say  that 
work  was  progressing  fast  and  well,  and  calling 
on  her  to  keep  her  promise  to  return  to  him  when 
he  could  truly  report  that  things  were  going  satis- 
factorily. She  hated  the  very  thought  of  him  now 
— without  any  reason,  as  she  admitted  to  herself. 
She  had  looked  to  West  for  rescue,  and  now  he 
seemed  about  to  fail  her. 

A  ring  at  the  outer  bell  surprised  her,  and, 
knowing  her  maid  to  be  in  bed,  she  went  to  answer 
it  herself. 

"  Hullo,"  said  Mrs.  Harding,  as  Marian 
opened  the  door  and  looked  inquiringly  out.  "  Are 
you  alone?  " 

"  Yes,  come  in." 

"  Only  for  half  a  shake.     I've  got  two  boys 

294 


THE    PEST  295 

upstairs,  and  I  thought  if  you  were  alone,  you'd 
like  to  come  up  for  a  bit.  They're  both  pretty 
oofy,  and  I  can  spare  you  one  of  them.  Come 
along.  You  look  spiffing." 

The  angry  blood  in  her  jumped  at  this  unex- 
pected opportunity. 

Mrs.  Harding's  room  reeked  with  cigarette 
smoke  and  the  smell  of  spirits.  Two  well- 
dressed  young  men  lounged  one  on  each  side  of 
the  fireplace,  in  front  of  which  stood  the  sofa 
on  which  Mrs.  Harding  had  evidently  been 
lying.  . 

"  Here,  boys,"  she  said,  ushering  in  Marian. 
"  Now  we  shall  be  a  four.  Two's  company,  so's 
four,  when  they  split  into  twos.  I'm  not  good 
at  introductions:  Bobby  Williams  and  Chawles 
Brewer,  who  never  gets  quite  so  intossicated  as  his 
name  suggests,  and  this  is  Marian,  though  I  can't 
call  her  Maid  Marian.  Now,  you  sit  down  that 
end  of  the  sofa  and  keep  your  eye  on  Bobby  or 
he'll  run  you  in  before  you  know  where  you  are. 
Have  a  drink?  I've  only  got  B.  and  S." 

"  Yes,  thanks,  I'm  thirsty.  I've  been  at  the 
Gaiety,  and  theaters  always  make  me  dry." 

Bobby,  as  a  rule,  was  not  at  a  loss  for  conver- 
sation in  such  society  as  the  present,  but  Marian's 
beauty  and  style  overawed  him  at  first.  As  for 
her,  she  was  mad  with  the  spirit  of  dare-devilry 


296  THE   PEST 

and  threw  away  all  remaining  sense  of  decency. 
She  drank  eagerly  at  the  brandy-and-soda,  soon 
handing  the  glass  to  Bobby  to  be  replenished. 

"  Say  when,"  he  said,  holding  up  the  tumbler 
and  the  spirit  decanter. 

"  When !  "  said  Marian,  stopping  him  when  he 
had  poured  out  a  stiff  allowance,  "  and  not  too 
much  water.  And  then  you  may  mix  quite  a  mild 
dose  for  yourself." 

She  laughed  gayly  as  she  took  the  glass  from 
him,  and  Mrs.  Harding  was  not  so  engrossed  in 
her  companion's  talk  as  to  fail  noticing  Marian's 
wildness. 

"Been  dining  too — eh,  Maid  Marian?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  so  I'm  not  hungry,  only  thirsty.  Now, 
Bobby,  amuse  me." 

"What  shall  I  do?" 

"  Talk,  tell  stories,  anything  except  be  serious. 
I  dare  say  Ethel  told  you  I  was  a  serious  young 
person,  but  I'm  not.  She  don't  really  know 
me." 

"  Nor  do  I,"  said  Bobby;  his  eyes  adding  that 
he  would  like  to  do  so. 

"  That's  a  misfortune  that  can  be  mended." 

Her  color  heightened  and  her  eyes  grew 
brighter  as  the  brandy  warmed  her  blood,  and  a 
stray  tress  of  hair  fell  deliciously  down  her 


THE    PEST  297 

neck.  She  put  up  her  feet  on  his  knees  as  she 
repeated : 

"  Bobby,  amuse  me.  I  want  amusing  badly. 
You  look  full  of  fun.  Look  here,  Ethel,  you 
play  us  a  tune  and  we'll  dance.  I  must  do  some- 
thing! " 

She  sprang  up  and  was  pushing  the  table  aside 
with  Bobby's  assistance,  when  Mrs.  Harding 
stopped  her. 

"  For  the  Lord's  sake,  no.  We  shall  wake  the 
people  below,  and  they're  goody-goody  and  will 
kick  up  a  devil  of  a  fuss." 

She  tried  to  push  Marian  back  on  to  the  sofa, 
but  she  resisted. 

"  No,  I  won't.  You  said  the  four  had  better 
split  up.  So  we  will.  Come  along,  Bobby,  we'll 
trot  downstairs  to  my  place  and  leave  these  two 
to  canoodle  by  themselves." 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  next  day  her  head  ached  rackingly,  and 
she  had  but  dim  recollections  of  what  she  had 
done  the  night  before.  She  remembered  getting 
out  a  botle  of  wine,  which  she  and  Bobby  had 
drunk  together;  remembered  having  become  up- 
roariously merry;  then  quarrelsome  over  some- 
thing he  had  said  or  done;  then  madly  merry 
again;  she  dimly  remembered  his  embrace  and 
his  going  away  in  the  dim  gray  of  the  early 


298  THE   PEST 

morning,  making  some  excuse  about  having  to  go 
back  to  his  rooms  to  dress  as  he  had  to  be  at  the 
office  early.  Her  head  ached  and  her  eyes  were 
heavy  and  hot.  Her  clothes  were  wildly  tossed 
about  the  room  and  one  of  his  white  gloves 
stared  at  her  ridiculously  as  it  lay  on  the  dark 
carpet.  Several  sovereigns  lay  on  the  dressing 
table.  She  rang  the  bell  and  the  maid  brought 
her  tea,  which  seemed  tasteless,  and  a  letter  from 
Maddison,  which  she  threw  impatiently  aside, 
unopened. 

The  day  seemed  endless. 

Mrs.  Harding  came  down  to  her  in  the  after- 
noon. 

"Well,  you're  a  nice  cup  of  tea,  you  are;  you 
demure  little  monkey,  do  you  often  carry  on  like 
that?" 

"  If  I  did,  I  suppose  I  shouldn't  have  such  a 
beastly  headache." 

"  Don't  know  so  much  about  that ;  I'm  a  pretty 
hardened  vessel,  but  a  drink  too  much  always 
gets  back  at  you  in  the  morning,  I  find.  I  don't 
feel  too  bright  myself,  and  I  don't  look  much  of 
a  beauty,"  she  said,  looking  into  the  glass.  "  This 
life  knocks  spots  out  of  one,  there's  no  doubt,  but 
it's  the  only  one  worth  living — merry  if  it  is  short. 
Had  a  hair  of  the  dog  that  bit?  If  not,  why  not? 
I'll  have  one  too,  he  bit  me  a  bit." 


THE   PEST  299 

"  Help  yourself;  you'll  find  it  on  the  sideboard 
in  the  next  room." 

"  Feel  so  cheap  as  all  that?  Buck  up!  Have 
one  with  me,  and  you'll  soon  feel  spry  again." 

Marian  did  not  refuse. 

"What  are  you  doing  to-night?"  asked 
Mrs.  Harding.  "  I'm  dining  out  with  my  old 
man,  who's  just  wired  me  he  gets  back  this 
afternoon,  or  we  could  have  had  a  lark  together 
somewhere." 

"  I'm  not  doing  anything." 

"  How's  your  young  man?  George's  been 
away  a  long  time.  Wouldn't  he  be  wild  if  he 
knew  what  a  rollicking  time  the  mouse  has  when 
the  cat's  away.  It's  just  like  men;  they  expect 
us  to  be  jolly  when  they  want  us,  and  we  jolly 
well  have  to  be — but  as  for  being  jolly  when 
they're  away — oh,  Lord,  no,  that's  shocking. 
My  lord  may  carry  on  with  as  many  as  he  likes, 
but  one  woman  one  man.  Thank  goodness,  they're 
easily  bamboozled." 

Mrs.  Harding  did  not  remain  for  long.  She 
did  not  care  for  dull  company,  which  Marian 
undoubtedly  was  this  afternoon.  She  felt  a 
trifle  mean,  too.  She  did  not  know  for  what 
purpose  Davis  desired  the  information  he  had 
asked  her  to  obtain,  but  believed  it  to  be  for 
Maddison,  and  knew  that  if  such  was  the  case, 


300  THE   PEST. 

Marian's  next  meeting  with  him  would  not  be 
pleasant. 

Marian  did  not  go  out  that  day  or  the  next, 
spending  her  time  reading  and  dozing  over  the 
fire.  She  hoped  to  hear  from  West,  but  no  mes- 
sage of  any  sort  came  from  him. 

On  the  third  day,  she  dressed  early  in  the 
afternoon,  and  went  in  the  omnibus  down  to 
Regent  Street.  As  she  stepped  on  to  the  pave- 
ment at  Oxford  Circus,  she  knocked  against 
a  man  who  was  passing.  He  did  not  notice 
her,  but  she  recognized  West,  and  with  him 
the  woman  she  had  seen  at  the  Gaiety.  They 
were  evidently  absorbed  in  one  another,  so 
much  so  that  he  did  not  apologize  to  Marian 
for  an  accident  which  was  more  than  half  his 
fault.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  walk  up  to 
him  and  speak  to  him.  Then  a  sickening  sense 
of  the  difference  between  the  other  woman  and 
herself  stopped  her;  they  could  not  be  rivals. 
She  had  set  her  wares  before  West,  and  if  he  did 
not  wish  to  buy  them,  she  could  not  force  him 
to  do  so. 

She  went  slowly  on  past  the  shops,  to  look 
into  the  windows  of  which  was  usually  a 
pleasure  to  her,  but  now  she  saw  nothing  ex- 
cept a  vague  throng  going  to  and  fro;  she 
heard  vaguely  the  roar  of  the  traffic;  she  was 


THE   PEST  301 

looking  vaguely  straight  ahead  at  her  future, 
and  listening  to  its  call.  This  was  then  the 
end  of  her  ambitions?  Well,  after  all,  did 
it  matter  so  much  to  her?  There  were  other 
joys  in  life,  and  while  she  retained  her  beauty, 
she  need  not  want  for  luxury  and  ease.  The 
future  called  to  her  and  her  vicious  blood 
soon  answered  almost  gladly,  almost  eagerly; 
she  had  sipped  already  at  the  cup  of  unruly 
pleasures,  she  would  drink  deep  of  it  now. 
The  thought  of  reckless,  unrestrained,  un- 
licensed enjoyment  intoxicated  her.  As  she 
passed  a  painted,  over-dressed  Frenchwoman, 
she  thanked  God  that  she  was  not  such  as  that 
one.  Not  such  to  look  at;  but  the  very  relics 
of  decency  in  her  seemed  to  drive  her  on  to 
acting  like  the  lowest  of  them  all.  As  for 
Maddison — she  would  write  and  tell  him  she  was 
tired  of  him.  He  would  probably  make  a  scene, 
but  that  would  not  hurt  her,  and  then  she  would 
be  free. 

She  turned  up  a  side  street  and  went  into  a 
public-house  to  which  Mrs.  Harding  had  once 
taken  her  late  at  night  and  which  had  then  been 
crowded  with  men  and  women.  The  saloon  bar, 
with  its  pretentious  decorations,  was  empty  and 
looked  seedy  and  shabby  by  the  light  of  day. 
She  ordered  a  liqueur  of  brandy  and  sipped  it 


302  THE    PEST 

slowly,  listening  the  while  to  a  heated  contro- 
versy between  two  cabmen  in  the  next  compart- 
ment. As  she  went  out  of  the  heavy  swing 
doors,  a  man  passed  quickly  by;  he  looked  at 
her  surprised — she  recognized  Mortimer.  She 
watched  him  as  he  walked  on  and  round  the 
corner  into  Regent  Street,  and  then  followed  in 
the  same  direction,  but  did  not  catch  sight  of  him 
again. 

She  was  utterly  at  a  loss  what  to  do  to  while 
away  the  afternoon.  Later  on  she  intended  to 
dine  and  then  go  to  a  music  hall.  Meanwhile, 
the  hours  would  hang  heavy  on  her  hands.  The 
spirit  she  had  drunk,  too  strong  and  none  too  pure, 
filled  her  with  spurious  energy  that  a  sharp 
walk  soon  dispelled,  leaving  behind  a  feeling  half 
of  nausea,  half  of  faintness.  She  laughed  as  she 
remembered  Mrs.  Harding's  invariable  remedy  on 
similar  occasions,  and  went  into  another  public- 
house,  but  this  time  did  not  drink  the  brandy 
neat.  A  man  was  leaning  over  the  bar  talking 
familiarly  with  the  barmaid,  and  he  turned  to 
look  inquisitively  at  Marian.  When  she  raised 
her  glass  to  drink  he  did  the  same,  looking  at 
her  insolently,  and  followed  her  when  she  left 
the  place. 

"Well,  my  dear,  where  are  you  off  to?"  he 
asked,  slipping  his  hand  through  her  arm.  "  If 


THE    PEST  303 

you've  nothing  better  to  do — and  what  could  be 
better? — take  me  to  tea  at  your  place.  Here's  a 
hansom ;  let's  jump  in." 

For  a  moment  she  hesitated.     Then,   with  a 
laugh  and  look,  stepped  with  him  into  the  cab. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

THOUGH  the  days  were  lengthening  out  toward 
the  spring,  there  were  many  hours  during  each 
when  the  light  was  not  clean  and  clear  enough 
for  painting;  these  Maddison  found  unspeak- 
ably dreary.  He  was  greatly  tempted  often 
either  to  call  Marian  back  to  him  or  to  run  up 
to  town  to  see  her,  but  he  did  not  give  way  to 
the  impulse,  for  he  had  determined  to  test  this 
plan  of  hers  to  the  bitter  end.  He  did  not  much 
believe  that  she  was  right  and  that  separation 
would  enable  him  to  do  better  with  his  work. 
Rather  to  the  opposite  opinion  he  inclined,  that 
constant  companionship  would  make  them  become 
one,  all  in  all  to  each  other,  so  that  no  longer 
would  her  presence  disturb  him,  but  on  the  con- 
trary would  inspire  and  spur  him  on  to  greater 
things  than  he  had  ever  achieved  before. 

The  new  picture,  a  view  of  the  downs  and  the 
gray  sea  beyond,  progressed  apace,  but  he  was 
not  satisfied  with  it.  There  was  no  defect  in  it 
that  he  could  name  or  which  he  felt  he  could 
amend,  but  there  was  something  lacking.  The 

outward  semblance  was  right;  it  was  the  inward 

304 


THE   PEST,  305 

spiritual  grace  that  was  lacking.  Probably  no 
other  than  himself  would  notice  it,  yet  it  hurt 
him.  He  felt  as  if  some  power  had  gone  out  of 
him,  and  that  he  painted  no  longer  with  gusto  or 
firm,  imperative  inspiration.  His  skill  had  not 
deserted  him,  the  coloring  and  the  drawing  satis- 
fied his  exacting  taste  and  his  intimate  knowledge 
of  nature.  But  it  was  only  the  outside  of  'nature 
that  he  had  caught  and  fixed;  the  heart  of  her 
was  not  there,  as  it  had  been  in  the  pictures  that 
had  brought  him  name  and  fame.  This  was  a 
dead  thing — there  was  no  life  in  it. 

He  could  not  understand  why  his  love  for 
Marian  should  have  affected  him  in  this  way  or 
to  so  great  an  extent.  Why  should  the  absorption 
in  her  of  all  his  hopes  in  any  degree  depreciate 
his  insight  into  and  love  of  nature?  Surely  a 
man  might  serve  a  woman  and  nature  too?  But 
though  he  could  not  trace  its  working  or  even  fix 
in  what  it  lay,  he  knew  that  some  change  had 
come  over  him,  and  that  since  he  and  Marian  had 
been  together  he  was  a  different  man.  This  love 
that  he  had  fully  counted  on  to  elevate  and 
ennoble  him,  seemed  to  restrain  him  from  reach- 
ing to  that  which  had  before  been  easily  within 
his  grasp. 

Perhaps,  he  sometimes  thought,  it  was  that  he 
was  not  altogether  free  from  anxiety  concerning 


306  THE    PEST 

her.  To  her  this  separation  had  not  appeared  to 
be  so  miserable  a  thing  as  it  was  to  him.  She 
had  suggested  it,  had  argued  for  it,  had  not  ad- 
mitted any  of  the  drawbacks  which  he  had  seen 
in  it,  and  had  absolutely  refused  to  be  shaken 
from  her  determination.  On  the  other  hand,  she 
might  have  felt  it  as  deeply  and  as  keenly  as  he 
had  done,  while  for  his  sake  and  to  make  it  bear- 
able for  him,  she  had  just  put  on  a  brave  face, 
smiling  when  tears  would  easily  have  come.  If 
this  were  so,  how  brave  she  had  been  and  how 
cowardly  he. 

This  thought  had  come  to  him  one  morning 
when  he  had  found  work  difficult,  and  was  about 
to  leave  it  for  the  day.  It  invigorated  him;  he 
would  not  be  outdone  by  her,  or  he  would  ever 
have  to  reproach  himself  for  not  having  faithfully 
abided  by  his  word  to  work  with  all  his  might. 
Work!  Yes,  not  for  himself,  but  for  her.  If 
that  did  not  drive  him  on,  if  that  failed  to  inspire 
him,  he  was  weak  indeed. 

Again  and  again,  however,  fears  and  doubts 
assailed  him.  He  would  wake  suddenly  in  the 
night,  aroused  by  no  apparent  cause,  and  would 
start  thinking  about  her,  wondering  if  she  were 
well  and  happy.  At  first  he  had  written  to  her 
almost  daily,  until  she  had  forbidden  him  to  do 
so  any  longer,  urging  that  it  was  nearly,  if  not 


THE    PEST  307 

quite  as  harmful  for  him  to  do  this  as  to  have 
her  chattering  and  laughing  by  his  side.  Her  let- 
ters to  him  had  grown  more  and  more  infrequent, 
shorter  and  shorter;  mere  little  messages  now, 
that  stimulated  a  hunger  they  did  not  do  anything 
to  satisfy. 

A  curious  change  had  come  over  his  imaginings. 
In  the  early  days  after  her  going  away  he  had 
found  no  difficulty  in  conjuring  up  her  face  before 
his  mind's  eye.  Gradually  the  image  had  grown 
vaguer  and  more  vague  until  at  last,  if  he  would 
think  of  her  as  she  was,  he  had  to  look  at  "  The 
Rebel."  What  memories  the  picture  called  back 
to  him!  The  meeting  with  her  that  foggy  after- 
noon in  Bond  Street;  years  ago  it  seemed,  but  in 
reality  only  a  few  brief  months;  the  afternoon  he 
had  first  gone  down  to  visit  her  at  Kennington; 
the  thought  that  he  had  then  that  she  was 
deliciously  beautiful,  and  that  he  would  love  to 
have  her  for  his  playmate;  the  birth  of  a  better 
feeling,  the  growth  of  his  deep  love  for  her;  the 
finding  her  alone  and  lonely  in  that  stuffy 
Bloomsbury  hotel;  the  long  days  and  nights  of 
delight  that  they  had  passed  together  since. 
Again  and  again  he  reproached  himself  for  little 
attentions  that  he  had  failed  to  pay  her,  and  for 
the  few  bitter  words  that  he  had  spoken  to  her 
once  in  a  moment  of  irritation.  He  was  so  utterly 


308  THE    PEST 

unworthy  of  her  that  in  good  truth  he  should 
have  done  for  her  all  the  little  that  was  in  his 
power.  He  had  kept  her  apart  from  his  friends 
selfishly,  with  the  result  that  she  must  be  very 
lonely  now.  He  had  written  to  Mortimer  asking 
him  to  do  anything  he  could  to  relieve  the  monot- 
ony of  her  existence.  What  a  dear  woman  she 
was,  he  thought  over  and  over  again,  to  put  up 
with  all  the  troubles  and  worries  he  had  brought 
upon  her — all  for  love  of  him. 

So  whenever  any  slightest  shadow  of  doubt  of 
her  entered  his  mind,  he  gave  it  no  resting-place 
there,  but  chased  it  away  as  an  insult  and  a  deep 
wrong  to  the  woman  who  had  intrusted  her  life's 
happiness  to  his  poor  keeping. 

As  the  picture  drew  near  completion  he  worked 
every  minute  that  the  sun  gave  to  him,  for  when 
it  was  finished  he  would  be  free  to  go  to  her.  It 
was  his  letter  telling  her  that  but  a  few  more  days, 
a  week  at  most,  kept  them  apart,  which  she  had 
tossed  aside  unopened  and  had  afterward  thrown 
upon  the  fire  unread. 

He  had  been  painting  patiently  all  one  morning, 
almost  angrily  sometimes  because  he  could  not 
exactly  translate  his  thought  to  the  canvas,  when 
he  was  surprised  by  a  knock  at  the  door  of  the 
cottage.  Mrs.  Witchout  had  not  yet  returned 
from  her  morning's  marketing,  so  he  went  to  the 


THE    PEST,  309 

door  himself,  expecting  to  find  some  casual  visitor 
from  Brighton  who  had  heard  of  his  being  down 
here.  He  was  astonished  to  see  Mortimer. 

"  My  dear  Fred,  is  it  you  or  your  ghost?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  any  ghost  ever  had  such  a 
thirst  on  him  as  I  have;  show  me  the  way  to 
the  pump;  I  could  drink  buckets  even  of 
water." 

"  Oh,  we're  not  so  primitive  as  that — but,  rot  I 
you've  been  here  before.  Come  along,  there's 
whisky  and  a  siphon  in  the  locker  here.  Drink, 
smoke  and  chat  while  I  paint,  only  don't  mind 
if  I  don't  hear  a  word  you  say.  I'm  at  a  ticklish 
point.  How  are  you  and  what  brings  you  down  ? 
Spread  your  answer  out  as  long  as  you  can,  so 
that  I  needn't  say  anything  for  at  least  five 
minutes." 

"  I'm  well.  Came  down  because  there  was  a 
rush  of  work  in  the  office  and  I  was  afraid  I 
might  be  in  the  way,"  Mortimer  answered,  with 
a  chuckle. 

He  then  lighted  a  cigarette,  sat  down  on  the 
window-seat  and  looked  aimlessly  out  over  the 
broad  down.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly,  a 
lark  was  singing  somewhere  high  up  in  the  blue, 
through  the  open  window  drifted  the  keen,  fresh 
air,  full  of  the  salt  fragrance  of  the  sea;  the 
world  looked  young  down  here  to  the  eye  of 


310  THE    PEST 

the  Londoner.  Then,  stealthily,  he  watched  Mad- 
dison.  At  first  he  saw  no  change  in  him :  he  ap- 
peared well  and  hearty;  but  later  he  noticed  a 
tired,  nervous  look  about  the  eyes,  and  that  every 
now  and  then  he  bit  his  lip  as  if  impatient  at  some 
difficulty  he  could  not  immediately  overcome.  He 
had  often  before  watched  him  at  work  and  had 
always  wondered  at  the  vigorous  joy  Maddison 
found  in  his  labor. 

44  May  I  look?  "he  asked. 

'  Yes,  I  don't  mind  your  looking;  you  don't 
imagine  you  really  know  anything  about  pictures 
and  so  you  don't  chatter  bosh  and  think  it 
criticism." 

Mortimer  stood  in  front  of  the  easel,  looking 
keenly  at  the  picture — a  great  stretch  of  the  downs 
and  the  gray  sea  beyond,  overhead  a  splendid 
tumult  of  rain  cloud. 

"Well,  say  something,  however  idiotic!"  ex- 
claimed Maddison,  after  impatiently  waiting  for 
Mortimer  to  speak. 

"My  dear  boy,  what's  up?  Have  I  inter- 
rupted you  at  an  awkward  moment?  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me?"  said  Mortimer,  turning 
quickly,  surprised  at  the  tone  in  which  Maddison 
had  spoken. 

u  No,  no,  of  course  not." 

"  It's  the  first  time  I've  heard  you  speak  as  if 


THE   PEST  311 

you  were  put  out  about  something.  Nothing's 
wrong?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  Maddison  answered,  laying  his 
hand  heartily  on  Mortimer's  shoulder,  "  not  a  bit. 
But — what  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  And  this  is  the  first  time  you've  ever  asked 
my  humble  opinion.  I  like  it." 

"  That  sounds  rather  dubious.  Speak  out — you 
mean  you  don't  like  it." 

Mortimer  looked  again  at  the  picture  hesi- 
tatingly. 

4  You  don't  like  it,"  said  Maddison  again. 

'  Yes,  I  like  it.  But  there's  something  want- 
ing; it  doesn't  seem  to  me  -quite  you.  It's  the  only 
picture  of  yours  I've  ever  seen  that  somebody  else 
might  have  painted." 

Maddison  turned  sharply  away  and  strode  over 
to  the  window. 

"  Oh,  rot,  old  chap,  you  mustn't  mind  what  I 
say,"  protested  Mortimer.  "  You  hinted  just  now 
that  what  I  don't  know  about  pictures  would  set 
up  half  a  dozen  critics,  and  here  you  are  getting 
the  hump  over  my  nonsense." 

"  It  isn't  nonsense.  You've  seen  straight  off 
what  I've  been  trying  not  to  see.  You're  right, 
damnably  right.  It's  as  dead  as  can  be — not  a 
touch  of  life  or  light  in  it." 

He   threw  down  his   palette   and  brushes   im- 


312  THE   PEST 

patiently,  crossed  once  again  to  Mortimer  and 
stood  behind  him,  gazing  gloomily  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  The  critics  will  probably  say  I've  eclipsed 
myself,  all  except  Tasker,  who  will  say  that,  but 
mean  total  eclipse.  But  so  long  as  it  sells  well, 
what  does  it  matter?  " 

"  Look  here,  Maddison,"  said  Mortimer, 
sharply,  "  there  is  something  wrong,  or  you 
couldn't  speak  like  that.  This  hermitizing  down 
here  don't  suit  you.  Lock  up  the  shop  for  to- 
day at  any  rate,  and  come  into  Brighton  for  a 
blow  off.  Now,  I  know  you're  going  to  say  *  no,' 
but  I  say  '  yes,'  and  if  you'll  give  me  a  shake- 
down I'll  bring  my  traps  over  to  stay  the  night 
here." 

Maddison  hesitated  a  moment,  then  consented. 

They  drove  back  after  dinner  at  the  Metropole, 
where  Mortimer  had  intended  to  stop.  The 
night  was  bitterly  cold,  and  the  huge  fire  which 
Mrs.  Witchout  had  made  up  in  the  studio  was 
grateful. 

"  Now,  I  want  to  have  a  real  yarn  with  you, 
George,"  Mortimer  said,  as  he  stretched  his  cold 
hands  toward  the  warmth.  "  I  told  you  a  tarra- 
diddle  this  morning — I  came  down  simply  because 
I've  something  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about." 

"  There's    nothing    wrong    with    Marian,    is 


THE    PEST  313 

there  ?  "  Maddison  asked,  leaning  forward  eager- 
ly and  speaking  anxiously.  "  It's  not  that!  " 

"  She  was  quite  well  when  I  last  saw  her." 

Maddison  sighed  with  relief  and  sat  back  again 
in  his  chair,  puffing  steadily  at  his  pipe. 

"  But  tell  me  first,"  Mortimer  continued  after 
a  pause,  "  what's  wrong  with  you?  I  know  there 
is  something;  I  saw  it  in  your  face  this  morning, 
and  though  you've  been  as  jolly  as  jolly  all  day, 
you've  not  been  quite  your  real  self.  What 
is  it?" 

44  So  I  look  different,  and  seem  different,  and 
my  picture's  not  mine.  There's  nothing  wrong, 
Fred,  nothing  that  I  can  lay  a  name  to,  but  you're 
right.  I'm  changed.  It's  this  beastly  separation 
from  Marian  that  doesn't  agree  with  me.  I'll 
come  up  to  town  with  you  to-morrow  and  fetch 
her  down  here,  or  settle  into  the  old  place 
again." 

"  You're  very  fond  of  her,"  Mortimer  said 
meditatively,  staring  at  the  blazing  coals.  "  I  was 
in  love  once,  and  I  know  what  it  means,  old 
chap." 

"  I  never  knew  that ?  " 

"  You're  the  only  one  beside  myself  that  does. 
She  wasn't  for  me.  I've  told  you  this  because 
I've  something — very  difficult  to  tell  you,  and  I 
want  you  to  understand  that — I  understand." 


THE   PEST 

"  It  is  something  wrong  with  Marian  then?" 
Maddison  exclaimed,  starting  to  his  feet. 

"  Sit  down,  George,  sit  down.  I'll  walk  about 
in  the  dark  while  I  tell  you;  that's  why  I  asked 
you  not  to  light  the  lamps.  Sit  down,  and  hold 
on  tight,  grit  your  teeth,  George;  I'm  going  to 
hurt  you." 

Mortimer  paced  slowly  up  and  down,  while 
Maddison  sat  down  again,  awed  into  obedience. 

"  I'm  going  to  hurt  you,  George;  I  needn't  tell 
you  that  I'd  give  a  lot  not  to  have  to  do  it.  But 
you'd  better  hear  it  from  me  than  find  it  out  for 
yourself." 

"  Quick,  quick,  don't  beat  about  the  bush. 
What  is  it?" 

"  It  is  about  Mrs.  Squire.  I  knew  it  was  no 
good  talking  to  you  until  I  had  facts  to  tell  you. 
She's — she's — my  God,  it's  hard  to  tell  you! — 
she's  utterly  worthless.  She's " 

"  Don't  say  another  word,  or  I'll  kill  you,  on 
my  soul  I  will !  "  Maddison  shrieked,  leaping  up, 
his  eyes  blazing  with  anger,  his  hands  clenched. 

"  I  must,  I  must,"  said  Mortimer,  standing 
quietly  before  him,  "  and  you  must  hear  me.  It's 
not  suspicions,  it's  facts.  More  than  one  man 
has  been  with  her  while  you've  been  down  here. 
I  suspected  it;  I  had  her  watched  and  there's  no 
room  for  doubt.  I  think  you  know  Geraldstein — 


THE    PEST  315 

he's  been  with  her;  another  man  was  with  her 
only  the  other  night.  I  saw  her  myself  come  out 
of  a  disreputable  public-house  with  a  man  and 
drive  off  with  him.  It  was  sheer  accident  I  saw 
her;  I  didn't  follow — I  knew  enough  already. 
I'm  putting  it  brutally:  there's  no  good  mincing 
matters.  If  she  was  merely  your  mistress  I 
wouldn't  have  worried,  but " 

Maddison  turned  away,  leaning  against  the 
mantelshelf,  his  face  buried  in  his  arms;  Mortimer 
went  up  to  him. 

"  George,  old  man " 

"  Don't — don't  touch  me  I  Leave  me  alone  for 
a  bit." 

Mortimer  sat  down.  Not  a  sound  broke  the 
silence  except  the  loud  ticking  of  the  clock.  It 
seemed  to  him  hours  and  hours,  though  it  was 
barely  more  than  a  minute,  before  Maddison 
spoke. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am,  and  what  a  beast,"  he 
said,  turning  fiercely,  "  to  believe  a  word  of  what 
you've  said.  It's  all  some  mad  mistake.  It  can't 
be  true." 

"  Do  you  think  I'd  have  told  you  if  I  weren't 
absolutely  certain?  " 

"  You  don't  know  her  as  I  do.  She  couldn't. 
She  loves  me.  Now  look  here,  I  won't  hear 
another  word,  and  to-morrow  I'll  go  to  her.  I'll 


316  THE    PEST 

never  leave  her  again,  open  to  such  filthy  sus- 
picions. You  know  your  room.  I'll  stop  here. 
Good  night." 

"  Here  are  the  reports  from  the  agent,"  said 
Mortimer,  ignoring  Maddison's  anger  and  hold- 
ing out  a  bundle  of  papers.  Maddison  snatched 
them  from  him  and  flung  them  into  the  fire. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  murder  you  ?  Can't  you 
leave  me?  For  God's  sake,  leave  me." 

Mortimer  realized  that  it  would  not  avail  any- 
thing to  press  matters  at  that  moment,  so  without 
another  word  he  went  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE  instant  the  door  had  shut  behind  Mortimer, 
Maddison  plucked  the  scorching  papers  from  the 
fire ;  they  had  by  sheer  chance  fallen  on  a  mass  of 
black  coals  out  of  reach  of  the  flames.  They  were 
hot  and  crackled  in  his  fingers  as  he  opened  them. 
Then  he  sat  down,  and  leaning  forward  read  them 
by  the  dancing  firelight.  They  contained  a  cold, 
bloodless  account  of  all  that  Mrs.  Harding  knew 
of  Marian,  and  by  their  very  lifelessness  carried 
conviction.  It  was  not  without  a  struggle,  how- 
ever, that  he  allowed  himself  to  believe  the  accu- 
sations brought  against  her;  for  long  his  heart 
refused  to  be  subservient  to  his  reason. 

He  sat  motionless  and  intent ;  the  fire  waned  and 
the  room  grew  darker  and  darker  until  at  length 
there  was  only  the  glow  of  dying  embers  left  in 
the  grate;  the  papers  had  fallen  to  the  floor  un- 
heeded; his  hands  lay  limp  and  his  head  hung 
heavily.  His  eyes  stared  blankly ;  he  saw  nothing, 
felt  nothing,  was  numb,  crushed,  stricken. 

The  striking  of  the  clock  roused  him.  There 
were  hours  still  before  the  starting  of  the  first 
train  for  London.  Should  he  go  there  ?  To  what 

317 


318  THE    PEST 

end?  He  knew  that  what  he  had  been  told  was 
true.  What  was  the  use  of  seeing  her?  She  would 
only  laugh  at  him.  It  was  nothing  to  her;  it  was 
the  shattering  of  life  to  him.  God!  How  greatly 
he  had  loved  her,  did  love  her  still.  How  he  had 
trusted  her,  believing  that  she  greatly  loved  him. 
How  easily  she  had  played  with  him;  all  this 
pretense  of  separation  for  his  welfare,  the  reality 
being  that  she  wished  to  be  free  to  follow  her 
lusts.  Could  such  a  woman  be  such  a  mere  beast? 
Why,  yes,  it  was  only  an  old  tale  retold;  no  new 
thing  in  it ;  the  devouring  woman,  the  hoodwinked 
man.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done.  No  hope, 
no  hope. 

Once  again  her  face  came  vividly  before  him: 
its  splendid  oval,  the  deep  eyes,  the  glory  of  her 
hair,  the  half-parted  lips,  with  a  little  smile  hov- 
ering round  them — how  lovely  he  had  often  seen 
her,  and  yet  she  was  a  mere  beast,  who  had 
sold  herself  to  him  and  was  selling  herself  to 
others. 

But  nothing  that  she  had  done  or  would  do 
could  kill  his  love  for  her.  A  dry,  choking  sob 
broke  from  him ;  he  staggered,  drunk  with  misery, 
across  the  room,  pulled  aside  the  curtains  and 
looked  out  on  the  cold,  moonlit  night.  Was  there 
nothing  to  be  done?  No  smallest  ray  of  hope? 
No  hope,  no  hope. 


THE   PEST  319 

He  lit  a  lamp  and  set  it  on  a  table  before  the 
easel  on  which  stood  "  The  Rebel."  Yes,  there 
she  sat,  as  she  had  been  when  first  the  desire 
came  to  him  to  have  her  for  his  own.  His 
own!  His  shout  of  laughter  filled  the  room. 
His!  Any  man's  who  cared  to  pay  her  price. 
Just  a  mere  beast,  no  more.  And  yet,  there 
she  sat,  the  beautiful  rebel  who  had  caught 
him  body  and  soul.  He  picked  a  dagger 
off  the  wall  and  slashed  the  canvas  to  tatters; 
that  lie  at  least  was  dead.  He  looked  at 
the  white  blade  as  if  there  ought  to  be  blood 
upon  it. 

He  had  killed  that  lie;  it  was  agony  as  if  he 
had  killed  part  of  himself.  But  life  was  the 
agony  now  for  him.  She  had  taken  from  him 
everything  that  made  the  world  worth  having; 
killed  his  art,  killed  his  love.  There  was  no  hope, 
no  hope. 

He  looked  again  at  the  white  blade  as  if  there 
ought  to  be  blood  upon  it. 

Mortimer  woke  early,  roused  by  Mrs.  Witchout 
knocking  at  the  house  door.  Wrapping  himself 
in  his  dressing  gown  he  went  down  and  let  her  in, 
briefly  answering  her  exclamations  of  surprise  at 
seeing  him  there. 

He  wondered  why  Maddison   had  not  heard 


320  THE   PEST 

her.  He  listened  at  the  studio  door,  there  was  no 
sound  within.  He  knocked — there  was  no  reply. 

The  dead  do  not  answer  the  living. 

Before  the  easel  on  which  stood  the  tattered 
remnants  of  "  The  Rebel  "  Maddison  lay  dead. 


THE   END 


>^*-. 


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